


The Dragon Princess

by Covenmouse



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Or like twenty, Swan Princess AU, it will end well I promise but we're gonna go down a dark path, seriously angsty ok, so if you see that 'swan princess au' tag and think this is going to be fun childish romp times, this is not that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21854851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Covenmouse/pseuds/Covenmouse
Summary: Sensing political tension on the rise, the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros and the King of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus hatch a plan to tie their peoples more closely together in hopes that a united front will dissuade their encroaching enemies. It seems a simple enough: she has a granddaughter, and he a son of a similar age. They'll bring the children together every summer, in the hopes that they will one day fall in love. But plans never remain simple for long.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 74
Kudos: 268





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like everyone on tumblr knew I was going to end up doing this, but, uh. Here it is. We're doing this. Yeah, buddy. 
> 
> Let me make this quick:
> 
> If you read my [The Lion's Roar](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1454557) series, **this is not related**. I have used some of the same OCs and similar concepts in both, but if anything it's... an AU of my AU? I guess that's a thing I'm doing now? Sorry, not sorry. But yeah. Obsidian Nights, and every fic attached to it, is entirely separate from this. 
> 
> That being said, I want to reiterate the tags: this is not going to be constant happy fun fluff times. There will be some light, but I am, apparently, physically incapable of writing anything that's 100% sweet and charming. I am a dramatic goth at heart; all roads lead to blood and monsters. Please be aware that if you're looking for pure sugar dimileth, this may not be your cup of tea. (And if that is your cup of tea, that's fine! I just can't write it, and I don't like disappointing people. If I've disappointed you, please don't tell me.)
> 
> Anyway! Now that I've scared everybody off, please enjoy the fic. :D

The toddler sat quietly by the fire, blue eyes fixed upon the man kneeling next to her with the curious sort of intensity known only to their kind. When he offered her his hand, the child’s chubby fingers grasped after one of his. Seteth smiled. He could not help himself. It had been a long time since one of their ilk was born, and he had to be happy no matter his trepidation.

He knew, without turning his gaze away from Byleth, that her grandmother was sitting not far away, pretending to knit. 

Rhea did not look like anyone’s grandmother; not by human standards. To begin with, most would not have assumed her any older than her late twenties. Her skin was clear of all marks and lines, her green eyes bright and matching hair luxuriously kept. Her fingers moved with quick dexterity, for all that they weren’t accomplishing much in the way of completing that blanket she’d sword to have done by winter’s end. She was too busy watching him. 

_ Dragons _ , he thought bemusedly,  _ we are far too territorial for our own good _ . 

Which was precisely why this decision bothered him.

“Are you certain this is wise, Rhea? They’re both very young, and the boy is… not like us.” 

Even here, at the top of his sister’s stately tower, it wasn’t in their best interest to mention the truth of their ancestry aloud. Not even Jeralt, who’d fathered this girl, was aware of his late-wife’s mixed heritage. It was among the most securely kept of all their secrets, and for good reason.

Rhea’s reply was polite, but firm as she said, “It is not a betrothal, Seteth. Merely a suggestion.”

“A manipulation.”

“Would you prefer we lock them into this arrangement no matter their feelings on the matter?” 

“You know perfectly well that is not what I mean.”

When finally he looked in her direction, he found his sister now watching him boldly, her knitting needles lying still beneath her folded hands. In her gaze was a thousand years of patience and survival, and he knew he would not win this battle. Perhaps he was wrong to even try. 

“What would you have me do,” asked The Immaculate One, her voice underscored with the faintest hint of the power she hid, “You say that the boy is not like us. I agree. Neither was Jeralt, or Willhelm. Not even my Hestia, nor any of my children who came before her, were fully of our line. By that measure, Byleth is even less ours. We are extinct. Our enemies made certain of that.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but Rhea was not done.

“Unless you mean to suggest that you and I should throw compunction aside and produce a child of our own. Perhaps, when your daughter wakes, she should take a mate of one of our brothers. Why not both? We could play as kennel masters, carefully circulating the stock in hopes that the blood doesn’t weaken and kill us before the humans—”

Her snapped shut with a click of fangs as her gaze darted for the door. Even in her temper, she knew she’d misspoken, and quite loudly at that. 

“I see your point,” Seteth replied, biting back his own temper at the mere suggestion of such a thing. Crude as the suggestion was, he understood her point. He was being prudish. “Be that as it may, offering the girl up as a bargaining chip…”

Rhea hummed a soft, keening note of agreement. Her shoulders slumped and her fingers toyed with the needles in her lap. “The—the  _ nobles  _ have been resolving their wars—or preventing them—through arranged marriages for generations.”

“You truly believe matters are so dire, then?”

“Not yet. Not quite. However, the Empire withdraws more into itself with each passing year.”

“If it’s the Empire with which you’re concerned then why not propose this plan to—ah. What  _ is _ this one’s name? They just crowned a new Emperor, did they not?”

“Ionus, yes. I considered it. His daughter is of a similar age, and would likely make just as suitable a partner for our Byleth. More so, in some ways. However, as matters stand, I am not unconvinced the Empire won’t devolve into  _ civil  _ war, rather than international. Making a stronger ally of the Kingdom is a far surer bet than tying ourselves to a failing Imperial house. Particularly one which might get her killed.”

“Practical as ever.” Seteth sighed, and nodded. Now that she had explained more of her logic, the shape of her plan made more sense. The more he thought about it, in fact, the less extreme it seemed. After all, they only intended to encourage the children towards a marriage alliance. “Hm. Even if they do not ultimately agree to the union, this arrangement  _ will _ provide reason for our keeping a closer eye upon the Kingdom’s internal workings.”

“Precisely. I am glad you’re coming around, brother. Particularly as I will be relying on you to escort Byleth, when her time comes to visit the prince.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s why I summoned you so early,” she says implacably.

“To be your assistant,” he reminds her.

Technically, he’d also assumed he was meant to take over the Monastery when Rhea faked her death in a few decades’ time. That was supposed to have been Hestia’s role, this turn about the wheel, but with her untimely death he supposed it would fall to him once again. Particularly given that Byleth, who  _ could  _ take her mother’s place, was being drafted into the role of a queen. 

“Yes. And I need my assistant to play diplomat with our presumptive allies for a time.” She paused, then added, “There’s a few years, yet. If you feel so strongly when the time comes, I will be glad to have you fill in here while I travel. But we will not be sending her alone.”

“And Jeralt?” Seteth paused as a terrible notion insinuated itself into his thoughts. “He does know what you’ve planned for her? You have not kept this from him?”

“If he were here, I would tell him.”

“Rhea.”

“He left her to my raising. That was his choice.”

“That—is fair.”

“In one sense.” Rhea’s lips thinned. “If Jeralt returns by the time they are set to meet, I will welcome him upon the journey and you may be free of this business, should you so choose. But…”

“But?”

“But I fear she may need our influence more than his. Our guidance. She is not fully one of us, but she isn’t one of them, either. This will not be easy on her, I think.”

“I see.” Seteth looked again at the quiet child who was still holding his finger. Byleth was quite normal by draconic standards, he remembered of his own daughter’s childhood, but he knew from the nuns’ gossip that her demeanor was quite strange to a human’s mind. He hadn’t been around for Hestia’s childhood, so there was no telling what Byleth’s mixed development would be like. Would she remain like this for years, yet? For that matter, would she stop aging properly? Her mother had, for a time, but Rhea is correct in that Byleth is far more human.

“How long did you say we have?”

Rhea took a deep, calming breath. Slowly, the clacking of her knitting needles resumed. “Lambert and I agreed it would be unkind to drag either of them so far before they’re of an age to appreciate the meeting. We thought we would wait until Dimitri is six or seven.”

“Six years,” Seteth hummed. “Have you considered her raising before that? There aren’t many children here at present.”

To his relief, Rhea seemed to consider the question before answering. “A good point. She’ll need playmates; proper ones. If ‘Leann were not yet sleeping—but they aren’t of an age, either way.”

“No. But there are always orphans in need of a place to stay, and nobles’ children in need of fostering. We’ll wait another year or so, and I will make some inquiries.”

“Do,” agreed Rhea. That seemed to be the end of it, so far as she was concerned.

Seteth returned his attention to the baby—the toddler, he corrected himself—who had yet to let go of his finger. Or look away. He wasn’t even certain she had blinked since this confrontation began. 

Now that the tension was easing from the room, the girl opened her mouth for a wide, toothy yawn, before extending her empty hand toward him in a silent request to be picked up. Happily, he obliged.

Though Seteth still wasn’t sure about this mad plan of Rhea’s, he had to admit it was a romantic notion. Not only for the idea of two souls falling in love over the course of their lives, but as closure to wounds long past. The ruling line of the Kingdom were the inheritors of the dragon slayers, after all. That Rhea suggested an alliance in their direction was a wonder, in and of itself. 

But it was also that, more than anything, which prompted Seteth to hope—to send up a little prayer to the Goddess, his mother, as he laid Byleth to her rest—that she would indeed learn to embrace her humanity. For all their sakes, but most importantly for her own.


	2. Chapter One

Dimitri, Crown Prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, hated formalities. It was among the many things his father found amusing about his boy. His mother found it adorable. His instructors found it exasperating. Between the three reactions, he could usually get out of dress-up-time easily. All he had to do was pout real hard and give the adults big-eyes, and they would eventually concede. None of them wanted to deal with a sulking seven-year-old, much less one who had a tendency to fidget and roll about on the floor when he wasn’t engaged in the goings on.

Not today.

No matter how much Dimitri slumped, and sulked, and draped himself across every available surface, he found himself being righted by his elbows or armpits and nudged back into place. 

“Your new friend is coming,” his mother whispered in that tone she used when she wanted him to be excited about something that would prove awful. “The one we told you about, remember? They’re going to stay all summer, so you want to make a good impression.”

Dimitri did not remember. Nor did he care about making a good impression. In fact, he resented the implication that looking nice was a requirement for a friend, new or otherwise. They hadn’t made him dress up when he met Glenn and Felix. Dimitri didn’t remember when he had met Sylvain, but he doubted he’d dressed up for that, either. He’d met Ingrid in a mud pit, wrestling pigs. 

The only people Dimitri ever dressed up to meet were adults; usually the stiff, formal kind that would generate angry smiles from his father, and prompt his mother to drink a lot at dinner. He huffed, crossing his arms impatiently as his mother rose gracefully from her crouch beside him. 

If Dimitri had any doubts at all about the stuffiness of the impending arrivals, they were squashed the instant he was led out to stand before the grand doors of the castle keep, overlooking the bailey. A silver carpet he didn’t recognize was rolled from the doors and across the recently cobblestoned carriage path which cut a circle around the yard. 

That his friends were also in attendance, standing in similar attention with the rest of the gathered courtiers, did not assuage his mood any. They weren’t front and center, like he was, which meant they could pull faces at him—as they were, when their parents weren’t looking—and Dimitri wasn’t allowed to respond. The indignity rankled.

Just then, a horn sounded from the parapets, signaling an approaching rider. All eyes trained on castle road. 

Located at the top of a mountainous foothill, the vista splayed beyond the open double gates encompassed the entire city far below. For one moment there was nothing. Then, as though rising from the ground itself, a carriage rolled over the hill’s crest and through the gates. 

The gossamer carriage of silver and ivory was lead team of four dapple-grey horses with handsome silver manes and furred cuffs at the ends of their stout, strong legs. The coachman at its top was dressed in the fine black-and-gold robes of a monk, like the priest in castle chapel, and the whole contraption was flanked by four knights in full armor bearing the winding draconic sigil of the Church of Seiros across their chests and shields. 

Dimitri stood up straighter when the knights came into view. 

Even at seven, he knew that the Church had their own Order, outside the jurisdiction of any king. It was said to be the envy of all Fodlan. He’d been told every legend about them from his arms master, Gilbert. His father and Duke Rodrigue had added their own stories of time served at the Church-run Officers Academy which produced knights and monarchs alike. One day, Dimitri himself would attend the academy, and he would become the best knight of them all.

Maybe, if this new friend was a knight, his stepmother would be right. Maybe he  _ would _ like them. Still, he reasoned, it wasn’t very much like a knight to ride in a fancy carriage.

The carriage rolled over the end of the carpet and came to a halt, leaving a line of mud and grass across the fabric. A short, silver-haired page in the Church’s livery jumped from a seat at the back of the carriage. He handed a scroll to the waiting herald before rushing to open the carriage door. 

“Presenting the Archdeacon Seteth of the Church of Seiros,” the Herald decried in a voice that easily carried through the courtyard.

A scarecrow of a man with sharp eyes and vibrant green hair was the first to climb from the carriage. Even without his title, the robes he wore would have been instantly recognizable as that of a priest, albeit fancier than any Dimitri had ever seen outside of festival days. Not a knight, then. Dimitri puffed his cheeks in disappointment.

Bishop Seteth performed a quick sketch of a bow to the King and Queen; the equivalent of that owed by a Duke. Immediately, Dimitri’s eyebrows raised. He knew he was supposed to hold his tongue, so he did, but as much as he disliked formal clothing and manners, he also wondered why his father would accept such disrespect from anyone, much less a man who wasn’t a member of the peerage. For just a moment, he thought he might like this man after all.

Then the Bishop did something even more unexpected: he stepped aside, and offered his hand to a second person inside the carriage, rather than allowing their page to handle matters. 

The Herald, unperturbed, continued, “And The Lady Byleth Eisner, also of the Church of Seiros.”

Descending from the carriage was a girl roughly his own age, with dark hair done up in ribbons and vibrant blue eyes so large they seemed to encompass half her face. It was instantly clear to Dimitri that  _ this _ was the person everyone had decided he would be friends with. Rather than feeling relieved they hadn’t meant the Bishop, Dimitri found himself a little unnerved. 

The girl was slender and small, even for their age. Her dress was a frilly, fluffy pile of white and silver that leeched every drop of colour from her skin. As he watched, she dropped into a deep, point-perfect curtsy that would be the envy of any court lady.

Dimitri couldn’t help comparing her to the only other girl he was well acquainted with: Ingrid. 

Ingrid, who was always sun-kissed brown by the first week of summer; who wore proper pants and trews; who wrestled and rough-housed, and who all the adults called incorrigible. Ingrid, who had wasted no time in coming to know his parents as “Auntie” and “Uncle,” and only gave their titles lip service when it suited her.

“Go on,” said his mother, pushing Dimitri gently towards Byleth.

He shot his mother a startled, offended glance only to catch his Father giving him a look which clearly read “be on your best behaviour or we’ll have a Talk later.” 

Sucking in his breath, Dimitri returned his attention to the girl who was watching him with folded hands and wide, doe-like eyes. Had she even blinked? Unnerved, Dimitri bowed as quickly as he could get away with. Another glance at his parents, and his stomach sunk. Neither of them were speaking up, which meant it was up to him to to stumble through the formal greeting and offer of hospitality he only half remembered. 

“Be welcome, Archdeacon and Lady Eisner. We offer to you the—the suckle of our heart—”

A few courtiers tittered in the background as his mother whispered, “The succor of our hearth.”

“The succor of our hearth,” he corrected, volume rising as his ears burned. “And the protection of our halls. No harm shall come to you within our borders. Your enemies will be as our enemies. Your quarrels will be as our quarrels. In turn, you shall raise no sword nor work any un— un-to—”

“Untoward.”

“Untoward magics against any who share these protections,” Dimitri recited before finally reaching the part of the hospitality oath he always remembered perfectly, “May any who dares to cross this oath be struck down by the might of the Goddess. Uh, do you accept these conditions?” 

“You’re supposed to ask  _ before  _ the Goddess part,” shouted Sylvain from across the courtyard, to another soft explosion of giggles. This was underscored by a quick, soft yelp as Sylvain’s mother caught his ear and bent to hiss a reprimand at the boy. 

“Sylvain—” Dimitri shouted back, before his father’s hand landed on his shoulder. 

“It’s all right,” King Lambert said, coaxingly. He winked brazenly at the waiting girl—not the Bishop, Dimitri noted, with growing concern. If they were being so formal, why was the focus on this girl and not the man who outranked her? “Do you accept, Lady Eisner?”

The girl cut the quickest of glances to the Bishop, who nodded very slightly in return, before she dipped her head politely toward the royal family. Unlike Dimitri, when she spoke there was no hesitation, nor missed words. Her speech was perfect, and Dimitri disliked her a little more for every syllable she uttered. 

“On behalf of my Uncle, the Archdeacon, and the Church of Seiros, I accept the protection of the Royal House of Blayidd. So long as I am within your halls, our blades and magics are yours to command. Your enemies shall be as our enemies. Your quarrels shall be as our quarrels. We shall raise no sword nor untoward magics to any who share in your protections.”

“May any who dares to cross this oath be struck down by the might of the Goddess,” Dimitri muttered again, fists clenching as another round of giggles came from the crowd. It was difficult to see who it was, and the noise was quickly drowned by a welcoming chorus of applause and heraldic horns. 

King Lambert clapped him upon the shoulder a second time. “Well done, my boy.”

Dimitri made a face. He didn’t feel like he’d done a great job, and he resented the hollow praise almost as much as he resented the way Byleth was still staring at him. It was like she could see into his very soul. 

As his father broke formality to offer the Archdeacon his hand in a warrior’s clasp, the pair greeting one another more like friends than dignitaries, the girl stepped toward Dimitri. He took a step back, bumping into his mother. 

“Now Dimitri, don’t be shy,” said Queen Consort Patricia, knowing perfectly well that he wasn’t being  _ shy _ ; he was being rude. “Why don’t you introduce Lady Eisner to your friends?”

“Do I have to?” 

“Dimitri,” she scolded, lowering her voice as though the girl weren’t standing  _ right there _ , hearing it all, “Lady Eisner is our  _ guest _ . I expect you to be on your best behavior, and to treat her as you would any of your other friends.”

But she isn’t my friend, Dimitri thought. He didn’t dare say it, however; not when his mother was already scolding him, and that girl was still watching him with those strange, moonstruck eyes. 

“Come on,” he said, jerking his head to where he could see his knot of friends waiting across the yard. “I’ll introduce you.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

He cringed. “Dimitri. My name is Dimitri.”

“Yes, Your Highness, I am aware.”

He sighed. “No, I mean you call me Dimitri.”

“Can I?” The girl’s brow furrowed in concern. “I was told such would be rude, and I am not supposed to be rude.”

“Well, I’m the Prince, and I said you can, so it isn’t rude. Okay?”

Byleth’s eyes narrowed. Her gaze unfocused as she tilted her head to the side, like a dog scenting something when they hunted in the woods. His unnerved feeling intensified, but when he shot a worried look at his mother he found her watching them with her hands clasped over her mouth in a poor attempt to disguise her smile and the happy brightness of her eyes. 

“I suppose if you said it is okay, Prince Dimitri,” Byleth said, finally, and Dimitri sighed. 

“No, not ‘ _ Prince _ ’—” The boy stopped as Byleth’s brows furrowed ever so slightly in what he guessed was confusion for her. Just as it was clear his mother found this adorable, it was equally clear that arguing wasn’t getting him anywhere. He hadn’t thought it possible for another kid to be this stuffy. He’d rather make friends with the Archdeacon. 

Heart sinking, Dimitri sighed and gestured for the girl to follow him. “Come on.”

He was several steps away before he realized that Byleth had stayed put, looking at him expectantly. Another glance at his mother found her eyebrows raised. “Go on,” Patricia mouthed, and mimed the way King Lambert held his arm out for his Queen when escorting her somewhere. 

_ Formalities _ . 

Sighing, Dimitri extended his right arm ever so slightly away from his body and looked skyward—refusing to acknowledge the way that Sylvain was grinning, or how Glenn was nudging Ingrid and pointing—as Byleth wrapped her hand around his forearm so he could lead her across the square. 

This was going to be the longest summer of his life.

##  #

Everyone in Garreg Mach Monastery and it’s connecting lands knew the Archbishop’s niece was a bit strange. The first several years of her life had been spent in marked silence, only raising her voice if she hadn’t been tended in several hours. If that weren’t unnerving enough, her complaints would usually end the moment an adult took interest in her. She was rarely quarrelsome or needed punishment. A single, crossways look from her Aunt or Uncle would instantly end any trouble she was making, and often put the girl off repeating the offense a second time. 

Once she was capable of toddling about, Byleth had taken to haunting the grounds like a strange little spectre; popping up where she wasn’t expected, stationing herself in corners and alcoves to watch residents and visitors go about their business like an odd statue. Gradually, she learned to smile when smiled at, and frown when she particularly disliked something, but mostly her expression remained blank; neutral. 

At first, everyone had been unnerved by her. There had even been rumors floated about, drifting gradually from the Monastery proper down into the villages beyond, and further still out into greater Fodlan, about a ghostly little girl who’d died in childbirth but refused to accept it. She still appeared, they would say, growing a little more with each passing day as she might have in life. Because of this, newer staff and less common visitors would sometimes shriek when they came across Byleth, hiding away in one of her spots. They lost more acolytes to fright than anything else. 

The rumors were a thorn in the Archbishop’s side, and any caught repeating them would find themselves quickly transferred or dismissed. It hadn’t stopped Byleth from hearing them, however, nor from understanding that the stories were about her.

She was strange. She was wrong. These were things that she knew about herself with utmost certainty, and which she feared might never be corrected.

When she was six, her Uncle left one dreary, rainy morning and returned a week later with a silver-haired boy two years her elder. His smiles were like sunshine, but his eyes were filled with fear. Any thought of friendship she might have entertained died the moment their eyes met. It was instantly clear to Byleth that he’d heard about her already, and she hated him for it. 

“Lady Eisner,” said the boy in a squeaky, mouse-like voice, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Ashe Ub—er. I mean, Ashe Gaspard, adoptive son of Lord Gaspard of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. I’m supposed to be your page, if you’ll accept my service. I hope you will.”

She frowned at this offer. The girl knew what pages were, of course, though she had never thought she would be afforded one. Pages were sort-of like servants, her Aunt had explained once when a visiting Lord had brought several along in his retinue. Unlike normal servants, though, pages came from noble families and were put in service of a household to learn things like manners, respect, and discipline. Given time, it was expected that Ashe would become a squire in the service of her house;  _ her  _ squire, specifically. 

That wasn’t what bothered Byleth, precisely. Rather, it was the odd feeling coming from the boy. He was all smiles, certainly, but there was something else beneath it—a warriness she sensed coming off him like a smell. Quick breath, nervous darting of his eyes. 

He was lying. His whole offer was a lie. Ashe didn’t want to be here any more than she wanted him to be here. 

Perhaps that should have endeared her to the boy. Instead, it reminded her of all the reasons why she was alone in the first place; why no one would want to be tied to a household containing someone like her. That was undoubtedly the problem, she thought. It had to be. What else was there?

However, one look at the adults watching them told Byleth that a refusal wasn’t on the table. If she denounced Ashe for a liar the adults would be upset, and that, more than anything, was something to be avoided. Byleth hated when adults were upset. It led to sour looks that made her stomach queasy.

So Byleth nodded, allowed Ashe to kiss the back of her hand, and the ritual—such as it was—was complete. She contented herself with the knowledge that becoming her page did not require this boy to take a squire’s oath when the time came. Perhaps, by that point, everyone would come to their senses. 

Later that evening, after an awkward moment when the nurse who’d slept with her since she was a baby insisted on leaving her alone with the boy instead, Ashe began to spread a pallet on the floor at the end foot-end of the bed and Byleth found she had had enough. The boy kept casting glances at the door like he wanted to run and never look back. 

“If you want to go home, say so. My Aunt and Uncle will not make you stay.”

Ashe startled, bold green eyes darting to her as his cheeks turned awful shade of crimson. “I don’t want to go home!”

“You are  _ lying _ .”

“No, I’m not—”

“You are,” Byleth repeated, implacably. “I know when people lie, and  _ you  _ are lying.”

Ashe’s lips screwed up in a quarrelsome pout. “I am not! I just—” 

He sucked in a hasty pout, his eyes brightening with unshead tears as he folded his arms across his chest. Byleth drew back in shock. She wasn’t used to other children, but this seemed an over reaction. Her anger fizzled, settling in her stomach like a rock.

“If you don’t want my service, I understand. I’ll leave. But I—I don’t want to go home.”

_ That  _ wasn’t a lie, Byleth realized slowly, though she remained unsure what was causing him such distress. “Why not?”

“Lord Lonato… he’s good to me. And to my siblings. He asks so little of us in return. I promised him I would be good and proper page to you. I wanna—er—I  _ want to _ make him proud.”

“That does not mean you want to be here.”

“Well—No—” Ashe’s shoulders hunched up to his ears. “I’m sorry! Its… it’s just—I’ve never seen a ghost before. I-I…”

“So you are afraid,” she said, frowning. “Like everyone else.”

Ashe’s eyes widened. “You’ve seen it then?” 

For a moment, Byleth wasn’t certain she’d heard him right. “It?”

“The ghost. H-have you seen it?”

The girl’s brow drew tight in consternation. Was the boy making fun of her? If he was, it was a new method altogether. No one had ever pretended not to understand her  _ words _ before. Byleth didn’t know what to make of it, but she didn’t like it at all. What was worse: he wasn’t lying. 

Did he not know she was the supposed ghost?

If he didn’t, she did not want to tell him.

After another moment, Ashe asked, “Lady Eisner? Are you okay?”

Slowly, Byleth shook her head and crawled up into her cold and empty bed. Maybe if she went to sleep everything would make sense again. 

Unfortunately, sleep wasn’t going to come easy. The day had been so strange already, and here was yet another strangeness. Nurse was supposed to be here, petting her head and telling her that the boy’s presence wouldn’t change anything, not really. She should be curled in Nurse’s arms, where everything was warm and right, and she had no need to pretend she was normal. 

But the sheets were cold, and there was so much room she could splay her arms and legs out without touching anyone else or the walls beyond. Even though she could hear Ashe as he settled into his pallet, Byleth felt more alone than she’d ever been in her life. She didn’t want to be alone. She liked it even less than she liked the teasing.

Byleth turned on her side with a quiet ‘hrmph’ and pulled the covers up over her head. The room became very quiet, but for the soft crackle of dying embers in the hearth, and the uneven, restless patterns of both their breathing. 

As moonlight and the dying flames shifted the light in the room from orange to chilly grey, Byleth’s mood calmed somewhat. But just as she was about to drift off to sleep—very much against her will—she heard the faintest of sniffles at the end of the bed. 

For a moment she wasn’t sure what the noise was. She’d heard crying before, of course, but never in her own room. Her thoughts went immediately to ghosts, though she had been telling the truth about there not being any in the Monastery. None that she’d ever seen, anyway. Gooseflesh raised down her arms. 

The next sniffle, when it came, was a little louder. As was the next. Finally, the truth became undeniable. Ashe was crying.

Byleth’s throat tightened with guilt. She wasn’t sure why. Neither was she sure why that simple noise, tiny as it was, made her uncurl herself and slip soundlessly from the bed.

Ashe flinched when she touched him. He stuffed his wrist into his mouth to keep from screaming, and refused to look at her until his heart stopped beating so wildly. Before he could say anything, Byleth took his wrist in hand and pulled him to his feet.

The boy, who was altogether the larger of the pair, had to be stronger than her. He acted as though he wasn’t. Ashe let her pull him all the way to her bed, and hesitated only a moment before climbing in beside her. When they were both snug beneath the covers, with Byleth on the outside and her back facing the door, she said softly, “There is no ghost.”

“There isn’t?”

Byleth shook her head.

“Then why does everybody say there is?”

Byleth shrugged. She might have felt sorry for him, but that didn’t mean she was ready to admit those people had been talking about her. 

“What if—what if there is and you’ve just never seen it?”

“I would know they were here, if there were any,” she said, implacably. 

“Like you know when people are lying?”

She nodded.

“How do you know those things?”

Byleth shrugged again.

Ashe frowned. He was quiet for a moment, but he didn’t close his eyes. He just looked at her, sniffling occasionally, and Byleth looked at him, and at least the bed wasn’t as empty or cold anymore. 

Finally, Ashe asked more gently, “You don’t like to talk much, do you?”

When she shook her head no, he smiled. “Neither does my little brother.”

“You have a brother?”

“Two, now, technically.” At the slight scrunch of her brows, Ashe’s smile widened a little further, though there remained a soft sort of sadness in his eyes, “Lord Lonato has an older son, Christophe. So now I have a big brother, a little brother, and a little sister.”

“You have a lot of siblings.”

“Do I?” He made a face she didn’t understand. “Most families I know have at least that many. Most have more. What about you?”

She shook her head again.

“There’s just you?”

She nodded.

“Guess that explains it.”

Byleth shrunk away from him. So this was it, then. He was going to start making fun of her now, after all. She shouldn’t have invited him into the bed.

“Aw, no, I-I didn’t mean it like that!” Ashe grabbed her hand, and Byleth was so surprised she let him have it. His skin was warm, in a welcome sort of way. “I’m sorry, Lady Eisner. I just thought it must be real lonely here, if you don’t have siblings.”

He wasn’t lying this time. Byleth could sense that, as clearly as one could surmise rain from gathering clouds. She wasn’t sure why she could do that, but she’d always been able to read people’s moods fairly well. This must be an extension of the same gift. 

So it was she admitted, softly, “It is.”

“But the Monastery has other kids, right? The Archdeacon said there were a few.”

Again, she shrugged, and this time she looked away. She still didn’t want to admit it, but it occurred to her that if Ashe met the other children he would find out anyway. Then he would call her a liar, and he would be right. 

Begrudgingly, Byleth whispered, “They don’t like me.”

“Why wouldn’t they like you?”

“Because I am quiet. And because I am strange.”

Ashe thought about that a moment. “Are you afraid I won’t like you?”

She nodded.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that. I think I’m gonna like you just fine. And who cares what anyone else thinks?”

“I do!” Byleth said sharply, surprising even herself at the vehemence. It was rare she was able to voice her emotion so clearly, so distinctly, that she drew back further from fear of herself. 

Swallowing thickly, Byleth added, “I care. I do not want to be different. But I…”

‘Don’t know how to be normal,’ she wanted to say. The words stuck in her throat, unable to be spoken.

Ashe, bless him, seemed to understand her just fine without them. He squeezed her hand, and flashed her a tired, sad smile, and said, “Well, if you want to fit in better, maybe I can help you?”

“You can do that?”

“Sure. I mean, if I can learn to fit in...”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, um.” Ashe cleared his throat as his ears turned pink. “Just, I’m, you know, adopted?”

She stared at him until he continued. “My birth parents weren’t nobles. When Lord Lonato adopted me, I had to learn lots of things. Like reading and writing, and how to talk right to nobles.”

“You did not know how to talk before?”

“I knew how to  _ talk _ -talk, just not all fancy like—well, like you. I guess I’m still learning that one. Maybe we both can learn more about fancy manners and stuff. I bet that would help a lot.”

He offered her a slim, crooked smile and for the first time between them—possibly for the first time in her entire young life—Byleth found herself smiling back because she wanted to. Perhaps, just perhaps, she was capable of making friends after all.

##  #

Two years later, it still took everything Byleth had not to turn on her heels and run at the sight of Prince Dimitri’s clear and apparent distaste. She pasted a smile on her lips as she curtsied to his friends while trying to pretend they weren’t staring at her like she’d grown a second head. She was used to this sort of reception. Adults found Byleth’s manners charming. Her fellow children on the other hand… Byleth never had gotten the knack of them, though she still wasn’t certain why. 

Unable to help herself, she cut a glance over her shoulder to where Ashe stood at attention by Seteth’s side. The boy glanced in turn to the Archdeacon and the King, saw they weren’t paying him any attention, then shot Byleth a surreptitious smile and wink as though to say, “You’ve got this!”

Ashe always did see the best in people.

“Uh, hello?”

Byleth startled, riveting her attention back upon the small group still standing around her. They were staring again. She’d missed something.

“My apologies, Your Highness, I did not hear what you said.”

Dimitri grimaced, not seeming to care how obvious his distaste was, and the way he rolled his eyes at his friends sent the hair up on the back of her neck. She had never imagined a Prince would be quite this rude, and it was becoming an effort to hold her tongue. 

“We were going to the training grounds to practice,” he said with affronted precision, “Do you want to join us?”

“Training grounds? To practice swordplay?”

The rest of the group laughed, like this was the dumbest question they had ever heard. 

“Uh, yeah,” said the tallest of the boys with raven hair and eyes—Glenn, she thought his name was, “What else are you supposed to do on the training grounds? Kinda comes with the description.”

“You  _ do _ practice swordplay, right?” asked the shorter boy, with features so similar to Glenn’s that they could only be brothers. Byleth couldn’t remember his name, though. 

“Swords are not my strong suit,” the girl replied slowly. “But—”

“Figures,” muttered Dimitri, clearly taking it to mean she didn’t do swords at all. 

Before Byleth could correct him, the red-head who’d disrupted their welcoming ceremony threw an arm unexpectedly around Byleth’s shoulders, grinning at her and his friends in turn. Byleth, affronted by the familiarity, shied back only to find herself caught by his superior strength. “C’mon, guys! She can still come along, right? She can, uh, call the winners!”

“There aren’t any winners in training, Sylvain. And get off her,” scolded the group’s only girl—Ingrid, Byleth thought her name was. 

The blonde slapped Sylvain’s hand off Byleth and shouldered her way in between them. To Byleth, she added, “Sorry. I think these guys were raised in a barn sometimes.”

“Thank you,” Byleth replied, as she touched her hands gently to her hair in an effort to check that it was still done up properly. It had taken a full hour to get right. 

Unfortunately, she was focused enough on Ingrid to notice the tightness in the other girl’s smile as her gaze flickered to Byleth’s fussing, and then down to her dress. Ingrid, Byleth noted, was wearing boy’s breeches under a leather jerkin. “No problem. Listen, if we’re going out to the training grounds, maybe you want to change?”

“I thought this dress was of the current fashion?” 

“It… Yes? I guess so?” They both looked to the court ladies still milling about and, yes, Byleth’s dress was a fair approximation of the styles they were wearing; albeit with a less adventurous neckline than many of the older girls were sporting. Ingrid’s plump-cheeked face scrunched at the sight, her nose wrinkling in distaste before she noticed Byleth watching her. “Most of them don’t do swords, either.”

“No, I would think not,” Byleth agreed, because arguing would be impolite. She didn’t understand what supposedly made dresses and swords incompatible. Admittedly, this style had more frills than she would prefer, but she’d been fighting in skirts for several years now. She’d thought it was okay, but it was yet another thing that was apparently wrong with her.

“Enough talking,” the short boy whose name she still didn’t remember said. He grabbed his brother roughly by the elbow, dragging him a few steps away. “We’re losing the light!”

Glenn laughed as he followed along. “What’s the matter? Afraid to train after dark?” 

“No!”

“You are!”

“Am not.”

“Are.”

“Hey!” Sylvain yelped. “Wait up!”

Sylvian and Dimitri gave chase after the other pair, neither one appearing to remember that Byleth was there. It wasn’t until after they’d reached their friends—most of the way across the courtyard—that Dimitri glanced back at her. He paused, tilting his head at the two girls, and hesitating with a look of such clear annoyance that Byleth found she didn’t want him to come back for her at all. 

“Go ahead,” Ingrid called, “I’ll catch up!”

“You do not need to wait on my account,” Byleth told her.

“Um. You sure?”

Byleth glanced at the girl and saw, very clearly, how much Ingrid wanted to flee. This--this rudeness and impropriety--this was their normal. And if that was the case, Byleth found she didn’t want a thing to do with any of it. 

“It was a long journey. I think I should better rest.”

“Okay. If you say so.” 

Ingrid favoured her with a small, tight smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. Then she was gone, easily catching up to the Prince and whispering something in his ear. Dimitri took one last look back at Byleth, forced a similar smile at her, and then the pair were gone, jogging off to somewhere deep inside the castle without another backward glance.

Byleth gathered what she could of her tattered dignity and walked quietly back to her Uncle’s side. If the adults noticed or cared that she’d been left behind, they didn’t say anything. Only Ashe, with his knowing green eyes, seemed to notice or care about the depth of her mood. When he slipped his hand surreptitiously into her hers, she found herself grateful her Aunt had agreed to let him come. 

If not for him, this would undoubtedly be the worst summer of her life. 


	3. Chapter Two

It was not the worst summer of either child’s life. If anything, that meeting marked the first in a series of summers, each more terrible than the last in their own, unique ways. 

To Byleth’s mind, that first summer would go down as the Summer of Silence, wherein she and Ashe drifted about Fhirdiad Castle like little ghosts. The irony did not skip her. 

As they were expected to join the Prince’s retinue, the pair often followed in Dimitri’s wake, watching from the sidelines as the quintet of nobles spent most of their time training. Though Byleth found herself itching for a sword from time to time, the sourness of their first meeting put her off joining them. Because she would not, neither did Ashe. Their combat instructors, when they returned to the Monastery, were not amused at how out of practice the pair had become. 

Neither did this stubborn streak earn Byleth any favours with Prince Dimitri. He tried speaking to her a few times, mostly at his parents’ behest, but their exchanges were always tense, and terse. Byleth was committed to her formality to the point of rudeness in spirit, if not technicality, and Dimitri was far too aware of how much she outclassed him upon that battlefield to deal with her for long. 

So far as Byleth was concerned, Dimitri and his friends weren’t much better. 

Glenn wanted to be a knight but showed none of the expected chivalry, and Glenn’s younger brother—Felix, she eventually learned—only seemed to care about swords, fighting, and fighting his brother in specific. Sylvain was the nicest of the lot, but he was also the loudest and most informal. 

Ingrid… Byleth didn’t know what to make of Ingrid at all. The girl was polite enough to her face, but Byleth had caught Ingrid whispering behind her back more than a few times. It always seemed to be about her clothes, or her hair, or the fact that Byleth wouldn’t pick up a sword in their presence.

By the time the Summer was done, and their carriage was being prepped for the return home, Byleth was barely speaking a word to anyone when it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Not even Ashe.

The boy writhed his hands as he stood outside the Prince’s door. He’d been standing there several minutes, now, debating the wisdom of this choice against the fact that Byleth was undoubtedly wondering whether he’d abandoned her, too. She was sensitive, and easily felt rejected; especially when people  _ were  _ actively rejecting her. Ashe knew that better than most. After two years, he’d come to understand the way the girl’s mind worked about as well as he understood his younger siblings’. He loved her about as well, too, and that was the precise reason he couldn’t leave this place without giving the Prince a piece of his mind. Even if that was likely to get him in trouble. More trouble than he’d ever been in, probably, and that was counting the time he’d decided to rob Lord Gaspard’s own manor. That adventure had been prompted by desperation on top of his love for his siblings. 

And it had worked out, Ashe told himself. It had worked out…

He rapped a quick, frantic note against the Prince’s door, then clasped his hands tightly behind his back as his heart sped faster. 

The Prince didn’t  _ like _ formalities, Ashe reminded himself. Hated them, in fact. The Prince wouldn’t mind him speaking his mind, surely, even if he hated what Ashe had to say. 

Before Ashe could make up his mind to run away, the door swung open revealing a muss-haired Glenn. It was clear the boy was tired and half asleep, but he had his squire’s tabard on and a practice sword strapped to his belt. 

“What’s this?” Glenn asked, perking up at the sight of Ashe. He smiled, nose wrinkling in a way that stripped any kindness from the gesture as he added, “The Little Lady needs an escort to her carriage, now?”

Ashe’s fingers tightened behind his back. He wasn’t a violent boy, by nature, but this gang’s nickname for Byleth wasn’t anywhere near as kind as it sounded to everyone older than them. His first instinct—a commoner’s instinct, his adopted father would say—was to punch Glenn right in his sneering mouth. 

But training and good sense overrode that impulse. “No. I’ve come to request an audience with the Prince.”

“Uh…  _ huh _ .” Glenn looked nonplussed at this information, his gaze raking over Ashe’s form like he was a two-headed cow rather than a perfectly put-together page. The sort of page Glenn himself would have been not too long ago. Or should have been. It was difficult to tell, the way this lot acted. 

Glenn looked behind himself, presumably at the Prince, and called, “Ashe wants a word.”

“What?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Uh… sure? What’s going on?”

Glenn shrugged a shoulder at Ashe and kicked the door open wider, leaving plenty of space for Ashe to enter. 

After a moment, Ashe decided that was as much of an invitation as he was going to get, and entered. He walked in far enough that Glenn could shut the door behind him, and Ashe could get a good view of the Prince’s quarters.

It was larger than the room they’d given Byleth. That was only correct, given the Prince’s rank. At the same time, it was also larger than Byleth’s quarters at Garreg Mach. Large enough to look comical next to the twiggy seven-year-old who lorded over them from a bed so large it could easily fit three adult men side-by-side. It made Ashe want to laugh and scream in equal measure, though he didn’t quite understand the latter impulse. It wasn’t like could he afford to act on either. 

Dimitri, who’d clearly only just woken, slid out from bed and grabbed a dressing robe from a nearby chair. He shrugged into it while giving Ashe a side-eye that could rival Byleth’s. “No one’s gonna announce you, you know.”

“I understand that, Your Highness.” The Prince scowled at his formal title, and Ashe tried not to cringe. “I—I have something I would like to say.”

“Are you waiting on my permission?”

He was, Ashe realized, and privately kicked himself. His fingers twisted as he fought down the impulse to apologize. The Prince didn’t respond to such things, and he had to do this. For Byleth. Because she wasn’t going to, and this was going to be their last chance. He didn’t see how anyone would ever invite them to court again. 

Ashe took a deep breath, steeled himself, and said, “She didn’t want to come here.”

The Prince paused at his wardrobe and turned to look at Ashe with a furrowed brow. Glenn, who was still behind Ashe, didn’t say a word, and so Ashe continued to speak. 

“She was terrified. Of you. Of all of this. She didn’t want to come here, and I told her it would be okay because you were a Prince. I told her if nothing else you would be polite. This is court, and it’s supposed to be formal, so we practiced for  _ months _ to be as perfectly formal as possible because then she wouldn’t mess up and no one would make fun of her.”

Now that he was warmed up to it, the months-long festering anger added heat to Ashe’s cheeks and words. He shook his head when Dimitri’s mouth started to open, and added, “But you did. All of you spent this whole summer making fun of us both because we  _ were  _ formal. We did what the adults told us was expected of us, and you wouldn’t even consider that maybe we had reasons. We didn’t want to get in trouble. We were told not to cause problems. So we didn’t. You  _ did _ . And maybe Byleth’s too proud to tell you off herself, but—”

“But you’re not,” said Glenn. 

Ashe’s hands, now clenched at his sides, trembled at the reminder that he was alone with two kids who vastly outranked him. Worse, he was shouting at them. Every commoner’s instinct in him, etched into his brain by that painful year he’d spent on the streets and a thousand warnings from his parents before they died, screamed at him to fall to his knees and beg mercy. Lord Gaspard was technically on rank with Glenn’s father, true. Ashe’s adoption had bought him a flimsy bit of shielding, if he’d only been yelling at Glenn. Prince Dimitri was far and above a different matter. 

Every platitude that Ashe had fed himself about Dimitri’s dislike of formality—and thus a presumed dislike of punishment for breaking with formality—fell away beneath the weight of the Prince’s stare. In this moment the Dimitri’s expression was, in his own way, just as blank and inscrutable as Byleth’s.

Dimitri might have only been seven, but a seven-year-old was more than capable of understanding rank and privilege. If he took umbrage with Ashe’s accusations, he’d be within his rights to demand the boy’s service terminated, at the very least. 

Lord Gaspard was going to be so disappointed.

Finally, the Prince asked, “Why now?”

“What?”

“Why are you bringing this up now? You’re about to leave.”

Ashe swallowed compulsively. He  _ could _ lie, he supposed. That seemed pointless, in the face of things, and after two years spent with Byleth he was far out of practice. The girl didn’t like falsehoods; not even shades of them. She’d rather be told a terrible truth than lied to, even by omission. It could be exhausting, but he’d learned to appreciate her point of view.

“I did it now  _ because _ we’re leaving. Byleth doesn’t know I’m here. Doesn’t know I told you all that. And I don’t want her to. Guess I’m hoping you won’t have time to tell her.”

Glenn finally walked past Ashe, knocking into the boy’s shoulder and making him jump. He settled on the bed and leaned back on his hands. “Why not? It’s the most interesting thing you’ve done since you got here.”

Ashe’s cheek’s flushed with another spike of anger too hot to handle. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about! I get it, okay? Formal is hard, and it’s stuffy, and it’s not fun to learn—”

“Then why does she like it so much?”

Ashe shook his head. He understood why, but telling these two all Byleth’s secrets would be a step too far. She’d probably forgive him for this much. She wouldn’t forgive  _ that _ . “Ask her. Nicely. Maybe she’ll tell you.” 

The Prince wrinkled his nose and crossed his arms. He blew a lock of hair out of his eyes, and when it fell immediately back down he carded his fingers through it irritably. “Is that all you wanted to say?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Fine.” Dimitri paused, then added with a touch of formality that, for once, didn’t sound entirely resentful, “Thanks for being honest. Please leave us alone, now.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

The Prince looked at him again, quite and inscrutable, before he said, “No. And Glenn’s not, either.”

“I’m not?” Glenn asked with no small amount of surprise.

“You’re not. They’ll be gone after breakfast, anyway. Right, Ashe?”

Ashe nodded once, and Dimitri returned the gesture. With that dismissal, Ashe sketched a quick bow, and made his retreat. Only when the door was shut did he realize how shallowly he’d been breathing; how hard his heart was hammering in his chest. He glanced both ways down the hall, hoping no one else had seen where he’d been, then scampered as quickly as he dared back to Byleth’s rooms. 

He couldn’t quite believe he’d gotten away with that, and sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Goddess. 

##  #

“She was terrified.” 

Dimitri stared at Byleth over the breakfast table, the ghost of Ashe’s words ringing in his ears. 

The girl didn’t look terrified. If anything, she looked more at home sitting at his mother’s side than half the court ladies who’d grown up in these halls. Her hair was done up in braids, as always; today with summer flowers courtesy of the Queen’s gardens woven into it like a crown. Her customary silver dress was perfectly clean, the lines even and pressed. She was telling Queen Patricia about a book she’d been reading—a history from the sound of it—all without spilling a drop of her juice or a crumb of bread down her front, or a single expression crossing her doll-like face.

It wasn’t natural. Furthermore, Dimitri found himself hard pressed to imagine this girl feeling  _ anything _ , much less terror. Her recitation of the history book was dryer and more boring than even his usual tutor could manage.

Still, he didn’t like the idea of someone being scared of him. Strange and off putting as she could be, she was still a person. She wasn’t even a bad person. She was just weird.

And she would be gone in less than an hour. After today, he wouldn’t have to worry about her ever again.

This thought consoled him enough that Dimitri was able to shovel down a few spoonfuls of his porridge and a wheat roll. That wasn’t nearly the amount he usually took for breakfast, but if anyone noticed they didn’t say anything. His father and the Archdeacon were too invested in some matter of politics concerning the northern lands that Dimitri wasn’t terribly interested in. It sounded like trade matters, not battle, and that was nearly as boring as Byleth’s history book. 

In short order the entire party once again found themselves arrayed before the great doors, the Church’s silver carriage pulled up to it’s silver carpet and waiting for its silver people to be taken far, far away. There wasn’t a large court gathering this time, and Dimitri made an effort not to show how relieved he felt. 

As always, Byleth’s soul-searing eyes seemed to catch him out. If the lack of tension between them was anything to go on, the bow and nod they exchanged at their parent’s behest was possibly their most agreeable yet. Perhaps she was just as relieved as he was to have this over with. 

If what Ashe said was true, Dimitri couldn’t blame her.

It was then, as the Archdeacon was moving to help Byleth into her carriage, that Dimitri realized that this was his last opportunity to apologize, if he was going to. Ashe may not have wanted her to know that he’d spoken to the Prince, but Dimitri wasn’t certain he could let Byleth go with the idea that he wasn’t sorry for scaring her. He was, sort of. If it was true. 

Byleth stepped into the carriage. 

“Wait,” he said, stepping forward before he could overthink everything. All the adults turned, various expressions of surprise written across their faces. 

Byleth was stiff as a poleaxe. She turned rigidly, face a mask of polite patience. 

Dimitri cringed backward, regretting that he’d spoken. Too late, now. After a couple shy glances at the adults, he cleared his throat and said, “Ah, can I—Um, can I talk to Lady Eisner? Alone? It’ll just take a minute.”

The adults looked between each other, then the Archdeacon extended a hand to his niece. “Byleth?”

“Are we not leaving?” She asked, her gaze upon her uncle with such a sudden, clear expression of pleading that Dimitri felt shaken. It was possibly the first real emotion he’d ever seen from her, and he felt all the worse for the idea that Ashe had been right afterall. 

“We can wait a moment,” Seteth told her. Either he’d missed the girl’s intention, or didn’t care. 

Byleth sucked in a quick breath, then cast a quick look at Dimitri again and straightened her shoulders out. She nodded, took her Uncle’s hand, and let herself be helped out of the carriage. 

Dimitri began to walk off, then remembered and offered Byleth his arm. She took it and let him lead her a little ways from the adults. The distance barely mattered. He could feel all their eyes upon his back. 

“You had something to say, Your Highness?”

“Uh, yeah. Look, I… Um…” Why did he always get so tongue tied around her? He’d never had an issue saying his mind to anyone else. He was a Prince! Saying his mind was his  _ right _ . “We’re not friends.”

“I am aware.”

“Well, yeah, I know. That’s not what I mean. Just, um. I guess I could have been nicer to you this summer. And I’m sorry I wasn’t, okay?”

Her gaze cut back to him, drawing over him in a glance. Her lips twisted in a tight little frown. “No.”

“What?”

“No. It is not okay.” She yanked her arm away from him, and a second expression came over her; so vibrant and vivid that he couldn’t deny its existence. Anger.  _ Rage _ . “I can handle your contempt,  _ Your Highness _ . I do not understand it, but that is fine. You do not like me. I do not like you. We are not friends. But I will not stand for false apologies and lies.”

“I’m trying to apologize.”

“No. You are  _ not  _ sorry you were rude and disrespectful. That’s not an apology, it’s a lie.” 

“That’s a contraction,” Dimitri blurted without thinking about it. It was such a small thing, but he couldn’t help picking up on it instantly. 

“What?”

“‘It’s.’ You used a contraction. You never use contractions.”

“Not with  _ you _ .”

“So you’ve been lying?”

“I have not!”

“Then what’s with this act? Ashe said you were practicing formality. So you put on an act, right? Acted like you’re more formal than you are. That’s a  _ lie _ .”

“It is not!”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Nu-uh!”

“Yea-huh!”

“ _ Okay _ !” His father was suddenly there, rounding them and separating them with a hand to each child’s shoulder. He walked them steadily back toward the carriage where the rest of the adults watched with bemused expressions. “As riveting as it is to see you two, ah,  _ getting along _ , I’m afraid Lady Eisner must be on her way if they’re to make their inn before nightfall.”

Dimitri sighed in relief, and didn’t bother to hide it. His dad had to be out of his mind to think this was ‘getting along,’ but at least now it was over. 

Then the King added something that made Dimitri’s blood run cold. 

“Besides,” said Lambert, “You’ll need to save things to discuss next summer.”

“Next summer?” Byleth asked softly. 

“Of course. We thought we might send Dimitri to Garreg Mach, but given the Academy’s heightened summer activities, we all decided it was best if you come back here, Byleth. We did so enjoy your visit this year, and I’m sure next will be even more fun.”

Dimitri found his gaze drawn to Byleth’s, even as the girl looked to him. Here, now, the two suddenly found themselves united for the first time ever in their mutual and apparent horror at the idea of doing all this over again.

Then her uncle was drawing her away. They both disappeared inside the carriage, and the whole contraption rolled away. 

The last thing Dimitri remembered of it, then and for the rest of that year, was the sight of Ashe’s peaked, worried face watching him as they rolled back down the hill. 

##  #

The inn where they stopped for the night was a lovely, if modest establishment in the largest village of Galatea territory. 

Galatea. Where Ingrid was from. 

Byleth stood at the window of the bedroom she’d been assigned, looking out the window at the somewhat rundown castle on the other end of the village. They could have asked to stay with the Lord’s family, but Seteth had murmured something about not wishing to impose upon their hospitality. Based upon what she’d overheard from the servants and nobles that summer, this seemed a kind way of saying that the Galatea family wasn’t doing well financially, and a formal Church visit would embarrass them. Conversely, the sum Seteth passed over to the innkeeper had been enough to make the woman blush scarlet and stammer over herself in thanks, but she hadn’t attempted to reject the sum. Granted, they were now being fawned over like royalty. 

If Byleth could bring herself to care, she’d be uncomfortable. All she was, was angry. 

Angry at Ashe for telling tales behind her back. Angry with her Uncle for agreeing to another torturous summer in Ferdiad. Angry with Dimitri for slandering her name.

A  _ liar _ ?  _ Her _ ? Because she was  _ polite _ ?

He had some nerve.

She was still fuming when Ashe slunk in with a dinner tray. He waited for her attention for several minutes before sliding the offering onto a small side table and moving to open her bags. He’d packed her nightgown near the top of her luggage, the easier to fetch it. 

“The maid is drawing you a bath for after dinner,” he said in a small voice. It was the sort of voice people used when they didn’t want to speak, but felt they had to say something. Byleth knew it well. 

He continued, “You should eat before that gets cold. It’s pretty good, actually, if a bit under seasoned. Not what you’d get at the monastery or the cast—erm. But I don’t think these people have too much. They’re trying really hard, though.”

Byleth couldn’t take any more of his rambling. She whirled on him, cheeks pink and brow furrowed tight. “What did you say to him? Why did you say anything to him!  _ When _ did you say it?”

Before he could answer any of those questions, Byleth snapped to a sudden conclusion. “That’s where you were this morning, weren’t you! It didn’t have anything to do with mending my dress!”

Ashe sighed, and placed her nightgown carefully on the bed. He fixated himself on smoothing the garment out and checking it for rips and wear he knew he wouldn’t find. “Your dress  _ did _ need a hem mended, and it was. I just got the castle seamstress to handle it, and went to speak with the Prince while she was working.”

“Ashe,  _ why _ ?” Her question was more of a wail, this time. Ashe glanced up to find her cross expression replaced with large, bright eyes and a trembling lip. Byleth wasn’t crying. Byleth never cried. But she was dangerously close.

He left off biting at his own lip and turned, leaning his hip against the bed frame. “I didn’t like how he was treating you. Someone had to say something.”

Byleth shook her head so hard that her hair began to fall down. A flower came loose, drifting to the ground at her feet. “No! No one had to say anything. I was handling it.”

Ashe was suddenly very interested in his cuticles. His throat bobbed before he said, softly, “Were you? You never said a cross word to them. You just acted like they were being polite. Even when they clearly weren’t. Or you didn’t say anything at all.”

“I know,” Byleth said, her own voice trailing into a whine that she hated even as it came out of her mouth. Her posture slumped a little as she sank onto the other end of the bed, staring down at her shoes. “You said if I learned to talk formally then people would like me. But they didn’t like me at all, Ashe. No one does, except you.”

“Queen Patricia and King Lambert seem to like you,” Ashe said, but he was grimacing. 

“Adults don’t count,” said Byleth. 

“I know,” Ashe said. He sighed. “I wish you could meet my siblings.”

Byleth didn’t want to meet his siblings. She could barely stand the way the Prince and his minions looked at her. If Ashe’s siblings looked at her the way they had, she would die. She just knew it. 

She hummed a noncommittal note, and then winced as Dimitri’s accusations rang once more in her ears. A  _ liar _ .  _ Her _ . 

Who did Dimitri think he was, anyway?

“I can’t believe we have to come back,” Ashe said, as though he were reading her thoughts. Then he swallowed again and reached slowly across the bed to take her hand. “I’m not gonna say I’m sorry for telling Dimitri off. But I am sorry I hurt you.”

Byleth threaded her fingers through his, and didn’t say anything.

“Byleth?”

She squeezed her bottom lip through her teeth, thinking about how dismissive they’d all been from the start. She had sort-of told Ashe that she’d only wanted them to like her— _ liar _ , whispered Dimitri’s voice—but that wasn’t the whole of it. If she’d just wanted to fit in, she could have found a pair of trews and stepped onto the training ground with them. She wasn’t  _ great _ with swords, but she was decent by Garreg Mach standards. She could have held her own. 

“Byleth?”

She thought about all Dimitri’s snotty sneers, and Ignrid’s sidelong looks. About Glenn’s ‘knowing’ smile. Of the whole lot, Felix was the only one whose contempt was plainly stated. The moment she’d implied that she didn’t do much swordwork, he was out. 

And she could have changed his mind. But she hadn’t. She hadn’t  _ wanted _ to. In fact, it was the exact opposite. She’d wanted them to accept her on her own terms. Even if those terms were just as foreign to her as they were to them. 

“Byleth?” 

“Liar.”

“W-What?”

Ashe’s hand loosened and she looked up to find that the boy was now sitting next to her, brows drawn and cheeks pink with worry. 

“He called me a liar. Before we left.”

Ashe’s eyes widened dramatically. “What? Was that—” he lowered his voice at the sound of shifting armor in the hall, indicating his raised voice had drawn attention from their guard. “Was that what the fight was about? Before we left?”

Byleth nodded. “He said I was a liar because I had to practice formality. Because it isn’t my ‘normal.’ I think he may be right.”

“That’s not lying, though, it’s just being nice.”

“Is it?” She shook her head. “I wasn’t trying to be nice. I was trying to—to… I wanted them to play by the rules. And they weren’t. And that made me angry, so I played by the rules  _ more _ .”

“Huh…” Ashe thought about that for a moment, then said, “So you’re not going to be formal anymore?”

She tipped her head to one side, frowning. “No. I like the rules. They make it easier to know what I’m supposed to say or do, when talking is hard. But I think, maybe, we can make more rules. Rules for how to deal with  _ them _ .”

“So maybe next year they’ll like you,” he said, thinking he was getting it. 

But Byleth shook her head. “No. I don’t care if  _ they  _ like me. Not anymore.” Her smile was fierce when she turned to him. “But if we have to go back, we’re not sitting on the sidelines again. Next year, we’re going to show them why they shouldn’t have judged us in the first place. Okay?” 

Ashe looked momentarily surprised, before he grinned. “Okay.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey kids, have a thing! Hope you're all doing well, and staying safe out there. <3 Love you all.


	4. Chapter Three

The earful Dimitri received after Byleth left was enough to sour his mood for the next week. Not only was next summer going to be awful, but his days of slinking out of his duties and neglecting his etiquette studies were over. His father had been adamant. Dimitri was old enough to act like the Prince he was meant to be at all times, not just when it suited him. 

His mother was less blunt about it, but her silence and the reproachful looks she directed his way during his father’s speech said volumes. She wouldn’t be coming to his rescue. His attitude was no longer “cute.”

It was all Byleth’s fault. 

He couldn’t understand why they were so intent on the girl. His parents seemed strangely determined to bring her into everything; inviting her out on picnics, having her sit by his mother’s side, and forever suggesting he invite Byleth into every little thing. It had been made clear in a hundred different ways that she was the subject of that summer’s visit, not the Archdeacon, which didn’t make a lick of sense at all. And now  _ this _ !

He was still stewing over it two days later when his lessons began again in earnest. Early morning arms practice with the rest of his retinue, followed by lunch and baths. Afterward, they would all meet in their study for maths, history, and composition. Dimitri, as usual, was first in the door. He opened his mouth to greet their usual teacher—Master Poreon, who had been among his late grandfather’s king’s guard—only to stop short when he saw a long distant face waiting behind the lecturer’s podium. 

“Uncle!”

Lord Arundel looked up from the book he’d been perusing and smiled at his nephew. “Dimitri. It’s good to see you again.”

The uncommonly sour expression on Dimitri’s face instantly resolved into a smile as he ran to embrace the man. Arundel patted the boy’s head and ruffled his hair. 

“Uncle?” asked, an unfamiliar, incredulous voice behind them. 

Dimitri pulled away instantly, turning to find yet another unknown girl seated at the long table occupying the room. Abruptly, he found himself annoyed. What was it with strange girls invading his spaces this year?

On first appearances, however, this girl could not be more Byleth’s opposite. Her skin was sun-kissed, her hair was butter yellow, and though her eyes were big and round, they were violet instead of blue. Most importantly, her expressions were writ large and clear. She was annoyed. At him. 

Dimitri’s face twisted up just as Lord Arundel said, “I told you King Lambert had a son, did I not?”

“Yes,” the girl drawled with such obvious trepidation Dimitri found himself torn between annoyance and relief. “He called you ‘Uncle.’”

“Because he’s my uncle,” Dimitri said. “He’s my mother’s brother.”

“ _ Step _ -Uncle,” said Arundel. “You were told of Patricia’s marriage, El, weren’t you?”

The girl’s eyes widened briefly. Then she nodded, her throat convulsing.

Arundel stepped away from Dimitri and gestured to the girl. “Your Highness, if you would allow me to present my niece, Edelgard. El, this is His Royal Highness, Prince Dimitri Blaiddyd. With his highnesses’ permission, you are to join his retinue during our stay in Fhirdiad.”

The girl’s lips thinned, but all she said was, “It is good to meet you, Your Highness.”

Dimitri couldn’t remember what the formal response to that was, and after a moment he moaned a soft, whining noise and looked at his uncle. “Do I  _ have  _ to do the hospitality offering?”

Arundel chuckled briefly. “No. Your father did that when we arrived last night.” 

“Last night?” Dimitri frowned. He hadn’t heard anything about visitors arriving last night, and he’d taken dinner with the court as he usually did. They must have come in very late. That was strange, but if it meant he didn’t have to perform that ceremony again, he was glad to let it go. 

He shrugged. “Then I guess that’s alright. It can’t be worse than having Byleth around—” 

The boy winced as his Uncle’s eyebrows raised. Edelgard lifted an eyebrow of her own. “Who?”

“Nothing,” Dimitri said. He didn’t want his parents to hear he was still ‘bad-mouthing’ the girl. Besides that, he hadn’t actually meant to say it outloud, and his ears were burning.

Thankfully, his friends chose that moment to rescue him. Ingrid and Glenn came racing into the room, falling over one another in their rush to get a seat, as Sylvain and Felix followed more sedately. Glenn pushed Ingrid, and she took the opportunity to catch his ankle with one of hers. He went tripping sideways and she vaulted over the front table to fall into one of the seats. 

“Hah!” she said, pointing a finger at Glenn. “Told you I’d beat you!”

Glenn grabbed Dimitri’s offered hands, letting the smaller boy help him to his feet. “You cheated!” 

“You cheated first.” 

“A knight would  _ never _ cheat.”

Edelgard—El—stared at the pair as Arundel cleared his throat. “Now that the rest of the class has joined us, I suppose we had best get started.”

“What do you mean?” asked Dimitri, even as he noticed Glenn exaggeratedly mouthing “who is that?” and pointing at El. 

“I mean, we should get started. The day is short, and your schedule is a bit busier than last year, I’m told.”

There were a lot of questions Dimitri wanted to ask about that, but he began with, “Does this mean you’re staying?” That was strange. Arundel was an Imperial noble. His visits usually only lasted a few weeks. A month at most. Hardly the time for Arundel to be invested as a tutor, of all things.

“We are, yes,” Arundel said in a tone that implied no arguments. 

“Are you going to teach us about the Empire, Lord Arundel?” asked Ingrid, who was doing her level best not to throw strange looks at the new girl in their presence. Something Sylvain and Felix weren’t even attempting to disguise.

“No way! I bet he’s gonna teach us magic,” said Glenn. “My dad says you’re an amazing sorcerer!”

“My Uncle is a scholar,” El cut in with a bit of haughtiness to her tone that Dimitri wasn’t sure he liked. “He could teach us a great many things.”

“I thank you all for your vote of confidence,” said Arundel with a hint of a smile. “But most of what I’m meant to teach  _ this _ year is something I’m told you could all do with a refresher on: court etiquette.”

##  #

Garreg Mach was precisely as she remembered. Byleth found that as soothing as it seemed impossible. They had been away three long, torturous months, bracketed between lengthy and dirty carriage rides. It felt like something ought to be different when they returned. 

It wasn’t. Not at first. 

There were no giant affairs surrounding their arrival, and for that Byleth was glad. She waved off her Uncle’s apologies when he was immediately drug to his office due to a vast backlog of correspondence which needed to be handled, then Byleth helped Ashe carry their luggage into the abbey. 

By Faerghus court etiquette Ashe alone should have handled her bags and affairs. He was her servant, after all. That was his duty, and his privilege. 

Here, where rank and propriety weren’t as strictly regulated, they had long come to an agreement that, so long as there were no snooty nobles about, Byleth was allowed to help him. They were a team more than they were Lady and Page. It was an arrangement her Aunt and Uncle approved of wholeheartedly, and it was perhaps the one thing the monks and knights liked about the strange little ghost-girl who lived among them. 

No one stopped them as they worked the bags up the million stairs between the stables and their shared room off her Aunt’s tower quarters. Nor did either child complain about the trip. Their legs burned by the time they reached the top floor, but they were home and that was all that mattered.

Someone had been in to dust while they were away, and washed their bedclothes. Otherwise, their room was untouched. They spent the rest of that day putting their luggage away, and by the time they were done it would have been easy to pretend the summer hadn’t happened at all.

Byleth couldn’t let herself forget, though. No matter how tempting it was. She was going to have to do all this again in less than a year’s time, and she had to be prepared.

That night before dinner she changed back into her usual clothes: a plain grey dress, woolen stockings, and a white linen smock with puffy sleeves pulled over top. These clothes were nowhere near as fancy as the silver dresses she’d worn in Fridiad, and while she’d liked those dresses just fine it was a relief to not feel like someone’s doll. 

Her hair was left loose without any of the braids or flowers. While Ash finished brushing her hair into a smooth shine, she fingered the last of the summer roses the Queen had given her, now wilting. Before they left, Byleth found one of the larger history tomes on her shelves and pressed the flower between the pages. The Librarian would yell, maybe, but the book would surely smell better whenever he got it back. 

Ashe, too, changed from pristine perfect livery into trews and a tunic that did look somewhat close to what the Prince himself wore, when Byleth paused to think about it. Nor did she like the thought. She didn’t want her friend to have anything in common with that boy, not even something so mundane, so she pretended the comparison didn’t exist. 

And by that point the dinner bells were ringing. The children fled down the stairs in tandem, to join the crowds headed for the Monastary dining hall. 

“How did you like Fhirdiad?” the Archbishop asked over a plate her Uncle had identified as Bourgeois Pike, caught in the monastery's own pond. 

The three of them were seated along a long table erected on a dias across the hall from the kitchens. A false wall behind them separated the dining area from view of the open hall doors behind them, and the space between them and the kitchens was filled with long tables where the monastery’s residents and students alike were taking their evening meal. 

As the Archbishop, Rhea sat at the precise middle of the table. Seteth was to her left, and Byleth to her right. In the space to both their sides were various Church officials, and a visitor whom Byleth did not recognize but who bore the colours of the Leicester Alliance. 

Byleth hesitated. There were many ears at this table, and in the gathering beyond. Many people to overhear her if she told the truth. 

She knew her answer didn’t have to be about Dimitri. She could mention how kind Queen Patricia was, or how lovely their gardens were, or King Lambert’s fantastic jokes—many of which she planned to share with Alois, when the Knight returned from whatever mission he’d been sent on in her absence.

She didn’t  _ need  _ to mention how much she disliked the Prince. It wasn’t the Castle’s, or even the country’s, fault that their Prince had soured her to the whole experience. 

But even as she opened her mouth to speak about the things she’d oh-so-begrudgingly enjoyed, Dimitri’s voice again rang through her head. 

_ Liar _ ! 

Byleth stabbed her fish. 

Her Aunt cast her a curious look. Seteth barely glanced away from his dinner as he said, “The King and Queen were very kind to us both, and have invited us back next summer.”

“That is wonderful to hear,” replied Rhea. “How is the dear Prince? I have not seen him since he was a babe.”

“Growing strong and bright. He has… quite a bit of energy, that one. He and his friends were very rambunctious.” 

Byleth fixed her gaze on Ashe, who was eating his dinner with the rest of the Monastery children a few tables away from the dias. She privately willed him to look up. To flash her a smile. To show her that she wasn’t alone, here. This was her home, too. She could speak her mind.

But Ashe was busy chattering with the others; the only time he did, as he was otherwise at her side and no one would approach him when she was present. He didn’t notice her gaze at all. He did not look up.

That was fine. She didn’t need him. She could be brave on her own. All she had to do was stick to her plan. This seemed as good a time as any, after all. Her Aunt and Uncle where in good moods. They were discussing a related subject. It was the perfect time to ask. 

Even if Seteth’s estimations of Dimitri made her insides roil with their wrongness.

Byleth opened her mouth intending to invoke the first stage of her plan. What came out instead was: “Do I  _ have  _ to go?”

The two adults paused, whatever they’d been discussing forgotten after her outburst. Rhea asked, “What do you mean, dear?”

“Do I have to go back next year? Can’t Uncle Seteth go alone?” Byleth hadn’t meant to open this area of inquiry, but now that she had, a new angle on her plan was quickly forming. She looked hopefully up at her Aunt, recalling the reasons Rhea had given her for being sent with Seteth this year. “I know you are busy, but I’m old enough to care for myself, now. Ashe and I, we could join the Academy and learn things while you’re at work, and you wouldn’t have to worry about me at all.”

It was quite the speech for Byleth, who wouldn’t normally say half as many words in front of people outside her family in an entire day, much less while seated at the high table during dinner. More than a few of the nearby Church officials were casting her side-long, wonderous looks. 

Their attentioned mattered less to Byleth, than the stares of her elder relatives.

Byleth loved her Aunt and Uncle. They were the only adults who  _ never  _ treated her like she was broken or wrong. They never forced her to speak when she didn’t want to, or looked at her askance when she wasn’t showing the proper reactions for a girl her age. She could always go to them when she was confused, or scared, or wanting for comfort, and they always seemed to understand her scattered and fractured explanations. They had never, nor would they ever, do anything to hurt her.

But there were moments when their presence was anything but comforting. 

Byleth had never been able to put  _ this _ feeling into words. Not to anyone. Not even to Ashe, or her nurse, or herself. She hadn’t grown up enough to need explanations for the way their gaze sometimes felt like a physical force upon her skin. How the weight of it made her flesh crawl with goosebumps, and the hair at the nape of her neck stand on end. For how the heat flushed through her from head to toe, sapping at her bones and making her heart race. How hard it could be to breathe when they looked at her like that.

Slowly, she lowered her eyes and shoved her trembling hands beneath the table, clasping them tight. It was difficult to say what would trigger one of  _ these _ looks, though she had worked out that they always came when the adults were upset or worried. Usually at or over  _ her _ . 

“Byleth,” Rhea said, in that slippery tone she always had during one of these moments, “This is a private matter. Do we discuss private matters at the dinner table?”

Byleth shook her head.

The intensity of the stares lessened greatly as Rhea smoothed a hand over Byleth’s hair, and tucked a stray lock behind her ear. Her voice softened as she added, “We’ll discuss this over dessert on the terrace, what do you think?”

Normally, the idea would have delighted her. The Moon Terrace was Byleth’s favorite place in the entire monastery, and getting to have a private evening with her Aunt was rare enough to be special in its own right. But her stomach was still queasy, and she didn’t understand why the topic was private even though Rhea and Seteth had been openly discussing it a moment ago. 

Still, she nodded, silent as ever, and resumed poking at her dinner. She hadn’t been very hungry before. Now, she wasn’t hungry at all.

Her spirits lifted about an hour later when Rhea changed out of her formal robes and drapery into a plain silk wrapping dress that signaled her “personal hours” to the rest of the staff, and led Byleth to the kitchen cellars where they stored the iced cream. 

Rhea usually chilled their bowls for them, but this time she showed Byleth the small ice magic that would keep their dessert from melting, and let the girl hold her own as they topped the sweet treat with berries and nuts then carried their prizes up to the terrace. It didn’t seem to matter that Byleth hadn’t eaten her dinner; Rhea didn’t scold, and when they reached the top of the tower both of them were quiet for a long while as they enjoyed dessert and the brightening stars above. 

The cathedral bells sang their evening song, and a gentle breeze whipped through the air, carrying with it the voices of the monks raised in song. 

Byleth smiled to herself, glad, again, to be home. 

Rhea’s spoon settled against her bowl with a quiet clink. “So, you do not wish to return to Fhridiad?”

Instantly, Byleth’s stomach lurched. She lowered her full spoon back into her bowl and swallowed before she shook her head. 

Rhea’s hands folded on the table before her. “May I ask why?”

There weren’t any people to overhear them, Byleth knew. Only a select few of the priesthood were ever allowed up here, and none of them after dark. Not unless it was an emergency. Those were rare enough that Byleth had little fear of it happening. 

Still, she found she didn’t want to share her troubles with Dimitri and his friends with her Aunt any more than she had her Uncle. She had had far more than enough adult interference in her interpersonal relationships. The only time it had ever ended well was with Ashe. He was a wonderful anomaly, but an anomaly all the same. 

It would be better to stick to the plan she’d begun crafting downstairs.

“Ashe was eight when he became my Page. Now, I’m eight—nine, in two months.”

Rhea blinked, nonplussed by this announcement. “You are, yes.”

“So if Ashe was old enough to come and be my page, can’t I be old enough to join the Academy? Ashe and I could both join. We wouldn’t even have to leave.”

The corners of Rhea’s mouth twisted inwards, betraying the smile she was trying to hide. “Darling, you know it doesn’t work like that. Academy Students are required to pass certain entrance exams, and—”

“I can pass!”

Rhea lifted one finger in warning at the interruption, continuing on as though Byleth hadn’t spoken over her. “And be at least sixteen years-of-age.”

“You’ve made exceptions.”

“I have, when the situation called for it. Most of our students have already received a primary education outside these walls, or are well on their way to obtaining knighthood within the order.”

“Aren’t I supposed to be a knight?” Byleth looked down at her ice cream, still perfectly preserved by her spell, and scrubbed a hand over a sudden flash of goosebumps down her arm. She kept speaking, regardless. “My father was. And Ashe is supposed to be my Squire, when I enter training. Can’t I start training this year?”

“What makes you think you haven’t?”

There was a long pause as Byleth let that question rattle around in her head until it made sense. “What?”

“Darling, you’re being taught magic and swords along with your lessons. We started that two years ago. What else are you wanting to learn?”

It was more that she wanted an excuse not to leave next summer, Byleth thought. Barring that, she wanted to learn how to beat Prince Dimitri. Having seen him at practice, she wasn’t entirely certain she could at present. Oh, they would be  _ close _ , but she needed practice. She needed  _ more _ practice than he had. And none of those were things she could admit aloud, of course, so she bit her lip and tried to find a better explanation. She hadn’t planned this far ahead. 

Looking up through her lashes, she finally asked, “If I’m already training, then why isn’t Ashe my Squire, yet?”

Rhea’s lips thinned. “Your position is a little… complicated, I’m afraid.”

“How so?”

“Well…” Rhea pushed her bowl out of the way so she could lean her elbows quite scandalously against the table as she spoke. “You were granted your title in Faerghus out of respect for services rendered by your Father, and his ancestors. This means that, were you so interested, you might—at the King’s invitation—enter Prince Dimitri’s retinue and earn your Knighthood at his side, along with his friends.”

“No!” 

Rhea’s eyebrows rose at Byleth’s third outburst of the night. “That was rather vhemenent.” 

“I—I’m not of Faerghus. I’m of the Monastary. What about the Knights of Seiros?” Even as Byleth asked, she knew that there was no ‘retinue’, whatever that meant, to join; no Prince or Princess to have one. There was only the Archibishop, and the Goddess herself.

Rhea’s smile saddened just a touch. “If you were anyone else, you might have sworn to be a page in the Order’s service until you proved yourself worthy of a Squireship. That is how things are done, here.”

“So why can’t I? What’s wrong with me?” Byleth didn’t mean her voice to crack, but crack it did. With that crack, she found her eyes beginning to sting in a most curious manner. She wouldn’t notice the wetness of her cheeks until much later.

“Nothing!” Rhea got up, rounding the table to kneel at Byleth’s side. She took the girl’s hands in hers, and watched her with over-bright eyes. “Darling, there is nothing wrong with you, I promise. The Knights would  _ love _ to have you here. But—”

Byleth ripped her hands from Rhea’s and stumbled out of her chair, tipping it in the process. She wrapped her arms around herself, staring at her Aunt in a mixture of rage and hurt so palpable that the woman was momentarily speechless. “Don’t  _ lie _ . You aren’t supposed to lie.”

“Byleth…”

“They don’t want me! The only one who likes me even a little bit is Alois and he’s never here.”

“That isn’t—”

“I don’t care!” She swiped an angry hand over her eyes. “I don’t care if they don’t like me, but don’t—don’t— _ you _ aren’t supposed to—”

She resisted at first, when Rhea took her by the elbow and tried to pull her close. Then she came, sinking willingly into her Aunt’s firm embrace as the anger and grief she’d restrained all summer finally burst loose. Rhea held her, cooing soft assurance and petting her hair, until she was tired and spent. 

“I hate him,” Byleth said, when her bones felt like jelly and she couldn’t have pulled away from Rhea to save her own life.

“Who?”

“Dimitri. I  _ hate  _ him.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do! I hate him so much I could scream. I hate the way he laughs at me when he thinks I can’t hear, and the way he rolls his eyes when I talk. I hate the way he calls me ‘Little Lady,’ and how his friends are so rude all the time. And the way he lets his hair flop over his eyes like he thinks it's cute and it’s  _ not _ . It’s  _ not _ cute! And the only thing he likes or pays attention to is sword fighting, like  _ that  _ takes any great effort at all, and—”

Byleth managed to pull away, breaking her tirade off to stare at her Aunt who was fighting against laughter. She wasn’t winning. 

Rhea shook her head, smoothing Byleth’s hair back out of the girl’s face. “I’m sorry for laughing. I’ve just never seen you so…  _ opinionated _ .” 

The way Rhea said it made the word seem like a good thing. It must have been, if Rhea were so pleased about it. She wasn’t so sure, but it was better than having her Aunt scold her for scandalous statements about the Prince. 

“Is this why you’re so adamant about your training all of sudden?”

Begrudgingly, Byleth nodded. 

“Seteth told me you didn’t train at all when you were with the Prince, though…?”

Byleth sucked in a deep breath. “They assumed I couldn’t use a sword because I was wearing a dress.”

Rhea waited, and when she realized that was it, she struggled again to withhold her laughter. “So you wouldn’t give them the satisfaction, and now you’re planning to rub it in their faces?”

“In  _ his _ face.”

“Oh. In  _ his _ face.” Byleth didn’t like Rhea’s tone when she repeated her, though she couldn’t say why. Her Aunt finished cleaning up Byleth’s face as she continued without pause, “Well, in that case…

“I still can’t allow you to join the Academy—yet. Nor are you getting out of your trip this summer. King Lambert and Queen Patricia are expecting you, and I would hate to rob dear Prince Dimitri of a valuable lesson. However, I don’t see any reason why you and Ashe couldn’t audit some of the classes in your spare time.”

“What does ‘audit’ mean?”

“It means that you will be allowed to sit in on the lessons, and to participate, but you would not be graded, and would be expected not to take up too much of the instructor’s time. There will be some rules, mind.”

“Such as?”

Rhea lifted her fingers, counting them off. “One: you are not allowed to engage in any live weapons training. Practice weapons, only. Two: you must be careful not to disrupt our student’s learning. Three: you listen to and obey each of the professors. If they ask you to leave their room for any reason, do it. You can for clarification why through either myself, or Seteth.”

Byleth began to agree, and paused when Rhea wiggled her fingers. “Hold on, I’m not done. This offer is only valid  _ after _ I’ve spoken with the professors and made certain they’ll be comfortable with the arrangement. I know how well you and Ashe behave, but they aren’t used to such young students and may not want the additional responsibility. If they do not agree, I’ll see if I cannot get one of the Knights—perhaps Alois, when he’s here—to give you extra instruction, instead. Are we understood?”

Byleth nodded adamantly, accompanied by the slightest smile. “Thank you, Aunt Rhea!”

“No need to thank me, dear.” Rhea kissed Byleth’s forehead. “Just show him who you are. Now, why don’t you go on to bed. We’ll see if we can’t have this squared away by week’s end.”

##  #

“I knew she and the boy weren’t precisely getting along, but I had no idea Byleth was taking it so hard.”

Seteth watched the fire in his sister’s study, brow knitted tightly together as he processed what Rhea had told him. He stroked the short beard lining his jaw and sighed. “I had actually begun to think this venture of yours wasn’t impossible. If she’s planning to attack the boy, though—”

He shook his head. 

“She’s of our blood,” Rhea said, moving to join him on the couch. She handed him a mug of tea, tempered to his tastes, and let herself relax back into the seat. “Passions run deep.”

“Mm.”

Rhea didn’t bother to hide this smile; she didn’t need to. Byleth and Ashe were asleep, cuddled like puppies in their bed. Even if they were to wake, well, the girl may have been quiet enough to sneak up upon her elders, but she wouldn’t leave Ashe behind and they would surely hear him coming. 

“You should have seen her, Seteth. I could practically feel the anger rolling off her. She even  _ cried _ . And the emotion in her voice, it was—I’d never seen her that way.”

“You realize most parents are upset when their children are hurt?”

“What do you take me for?” Rhea frowned at him, now, though she’d caught the sardonic lilt in his voice. “I am not happy to hear they were snubbing her. Of course I am not. But I won’t pretend to be surprised, either. We were lucky to find so rare a soul as Ashe. He sees past the quiet. Most children don’t. But they are just that, Seteth: children. They have time. They can learn. They can  _ grow _ .”

“And encouraging her toward violence will help with that?”

“The children picked their battlefield.” Rhea shrugged. “Besides, they’re all being trained to war as it is. Provided it’s only a sparring match and not a duel to the death, I can’t see any harm coming from it. If the boy’s as bloody minded as Byleth implied, beating him can only raise her in his estimations.”

“Or it could backfire entirely,” he cautioned. “I don’t believe Dimitri has a sadistic streak in him—a bit of school-yard snobbery aside, he  _ did _ seem a kind enough boy—but we have judged his family wrong before. Do not forget whose blood runs in  _ his _ veins.”

“I  _ never  _ forget that.” His sister smiled, showing far too many teeth. “Besides, dear brother, that’s why you’re there. I trust you to pull her from the fire, should there be one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all, as always! Will the next chapter be a beating or a training montage? Hard to say, but hopefully it will be fun either way.


	5. Chapter Four

Crown Prince Dimitri was eight-years-old the second time a silver carriage from Garreg Mach rolled through the castle gates. As in the previous year, the attending nobility were gathered about the edges of the courtyard with him and his parents standing before the grand entrance way to the keep. The same silver carpet was laid out before them, as what looked like the same set of dabbled silver geldings pulled the carriage to the door. 

Everything was the same, excepting for El’s presence at his back. She stood next to her benefactor, their Uncle Arundel, and hissed at him to pay attention when his gaze wandered too far toward Glenn and Sylvain making faces from the sidelines. 

Dimitri threw a grateful glance over his shoulder. El, whose solemn demeanor he’d come to appreciate over the past year, returned only the faintest half-smile before riveting her attention on the approaching carriage. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get through this if it weren’t for her presence. 

Ashe was taller than him now, Dimitri noticed with a spike of envy as the page hopped off his seat at the back of the carriage. Sure, the boy was nearly three years older than him; closer to Sylvain and Glenn’s age. It only made sense that he’d have a height advantage. But though Dimitri had never harbored any particular animosity toward the page, he found himself a little annoyed to be towered over by yet another person. Was he ever going to grow? Even El was taller than him, now. 

The carriage door opened, and a sudden bout of nerves hit his stomach. If Byleth was taller than him, too, Dimitri was sure he’d bungle the offer of hospitality just as he had last year. 

The Archdeacon stepped down as he was announced, and once again moved to the side to help his niece from the carriage. 

All the nerves died in an instant, replaced by a rock in his stomach as the girl appeared. Behind him, he heard El suck in a sharp breath.

Byleth hadn’t grown any taller. In fact, she barely looked any different than she had the year before. Her silver dress was updated to that year’s courtly fashion, and her hair was left loose with ribbons tying the sides back from her face. But her large, slightly vacant blue eyes were the same. Her skin was just as milky, and her face remained impassive as ever. 

That same, familiar distaste rose in Dimitri even as his mother nudged his back once again with a whisper of, “As we practiced.”

As they’d practiced. 

Dimitri swallowed hard, then put on a brave face and strode forward to meet Byleth halfway. He dropped into a courtly bow that matched her curtsy in precision. There was no stuttering or stalling when he made his offer, and Byleth accepted with every bit as much courtesy and politeness as they’d expected. The only deviation was at the end, when he extended a hand to her as he’d been taught. 

Byleth hesitated. She glanced between him and his hand and—was that his imagination, or did she seem… reluctant? The girl’s eyes narrowed marginally as she placed her hand in his, and narrowed further with every degree he bent toward it. 

Dimitri grimaced, throwing a glance back at his father. King Lambert nodded ever so slightly, and Dimitri sighed. Finally, he kissed the back of her hand. 

It was warmer than he would have guessed. 

Afterward, it was all he could do not to swipe his hands across his mouth in disgust. When he saw how Byleth stuffed her hands behind her back, rubbing her hands against the fabric as she did, he decided it was almost worth the embarrassment.

“Lord Arundel,” the Archdeacon was saying above them, as the adults got their own greetings out of the way, “I did not expect to see you in Faerghus.”

“Archdeacon.” Arundel tipped his head toward the man in an abbreviated bow. “A pleasure. It has been quite some time.”

“A little over a year, I believe. We’ve missed you at the Monastery. After… everything that happened, we feared what might be keeping you away.”

“Ah.” Arundel chuckled in that strange, bitter way he’d taken to over the past year, and clapped a hand onto El’s shoulder. The girl hadn’t left his side, or done much except stare at the newcomer in their midst. She didn’t seem to notice her sponsor’s touch in the slightest. “I admit, my presence here has been somewhat… understated. You understand, I assume.”

“Of course. Though I hope you’ll tell me some of what you’ve been up to. Perhaps over drinks later?”

“It would be my pleasure. In the meantime, might I introduce my ward, El? She’s new among the young Prince’s retinue.”

“El, is it?” The Archdeacon’s smile was a shade too knowing for Dimitri’s taste. He didn’t like it when the adults—some of them, anyway—looked at his friend like that. As though they were all in on some great joke. 

El remained silent. Her gaze still had not flickered from Byleth. Now that the girl had noticed, she was staring back just as intently. A small tremor of unease ran down Dimitri’s spine, though he couldn’t be certain why. All he knew was that he didn’t like it. He didn’t want their stares to be so unnervingly similar. 

“El?” Arundel was asking, at the same time the Archdeacon touched Byleth’s back and asked, “Byleth?”

Byleth was the first of the two who startled attention. She took the prompting gamely, stepping up to El and offering the girl a curtsy. As she dipped, El’s trance broke with a start and, without seeming to understand the symmetry, she offered Byleth her hand. 

“Lady Eisner, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Lady El.” Byleth took the other girl’s hand, letting El guide her back to her feet. Then her eyes widened slightly as El leaned in, and kissed the back of her hand just as Dimitri had. 

The Prince swallowed audibly.

“I am glad to finally meet you,” said El quietly, her cheeks staining pink as she dropped Byleth’s hand. “The others had much to say, when we learned you would be returning.”

Whatever the spell had been between them, that simple statement burst it. Byleth’s face closed off instantly. Her shoulders drew stiff as she fixed a noticeably practiced smile in place. “I imagine they did.”

The Queen cleared her throat. “Byleth, dear, it’s so good to have you back. I’m certain you all have much to catch up on, though. Dimitri, why don’t you take Byleth around to meet your friends and we’ll see you all at dinner tonight. Byleth, you have the same room you did last year, but don’t hesitate to ask Dimitri to show you where it is if you get lost.”

Byleth dipped a quick, respectful curtsy at the obvious dismissal, murmuring her thanks, then turned to Dimitri with a strange glint in her eyes. 

“Go on,” said Patricia, when Dimitri hesitated. 

He forced himself not to roll his eyes, then turned his back on Byleth and once again held out his arm to her. The girl snaked her arm through his, allowing him to guide her off toward the rest of their group with El just behind them. 

None of this was going as he’d expected. Not that he’d expected much of anything.

##  #

Her name was Catherine. 

Some days, Byleth couldn’t believe the woman had taken an interest in her. She’d sit on the sidelines with the rest of the students, watching as Catherine demonstrated the most exquisite sword work she’d ever seen in all her young life and wonder that  _ this _ was her teacher. Her friend.

Their first few days in the Academy had been… trying. The school year had begun at the end of summer, a week before Byleth and Ashe’s return from Faerghus, but already there’d been rumors enough about the ghost-girl and her page that the students were off-put to find the pair waiting for them outside the classrooms that first morning. They were all polite about it, though, and Byleth resigned herself to being ‘tolerated,’ as per usual.

Two days later, after a lecture on battlefield tactics with the Blue Lions, they were surprised when the class prefect sat down opposite them at the table. They knew who Catherine was, of course, but had never expected to have the lanky teenager’s attention focused upon them so directly. 

“So, kid, can I ask you a question?”

Though she expected a trick of some sort, Byleth nodded shortly. “You may.”

“What are you here for?”

“We want to learn,” Ashe interjected, when Byleth’s mouth set into a firm line and she went quiet. “Why else would we be here?”

“Right. But I mean what, specifically? What’s your interest? Everyone’s got one.”

Again, Byleth glanced to Ashe. “What is  _ your _ interest?” he asked Catherine.

“Swords, primarily. All this tactics nonsense goes right over my head. I’m more the ‘run in and kick everyone’s ass’ kind of girl.” Catherine smirked and held a hand out to Byleth, in the commoner’s fashion. “You probably don’t remember me. I’m Sir Javier’s squire. At least until I graduate.”

With growing confusion, Byleth shook Catherine’s hand. Her grip was strong and calloused, and this close Byleth could smell the woman’s heady perfume of sweat and cinnamon. Come to think of it, she did believe she remembered a pre-teen girl from a few years back; one with blonde hair and an attitude who was always running after one of the Faerghus knights who often visited on pilgrimage. “You were often helping the Order patrols, weren’t you?”

“That’s right! I’ve barely seen a proper bed these past six years. Being at the Academy for such a long time is weird.” Catherine’s laugh was entirely free of the nervousness that Byleth had come to expect, and ever so slowly she found the corners of her lips lifting.

“Hey, see there,” said Catherine, “I knew you could smile!”

Byleth’s mouth instantly straightened into a line, but that only seemed to amuse Catherine all the more. The woman leaned in, elbows on the table and hands clasped beneath her chin. “You wanna see something neat?”

Byleth exchanged a look with Ashe, who seemed just as perplexed. Together, they agreed. What did they have to lose if it was a trick?

“Great! Follow me.”

Catherine led them out to the training yard, along with a few of the other Blue Lion students. All the way, Byleth was assuming this was going to be a prank and steeled herself for the inevitable humiliation of it all. After all, these teenagers were all members of the Faerghus nobility. In another year, maybe two, Glenn would be among them. Most of them were probably his friends already.

She was surprised when all that happened was Catherine and another student drawing practice swords from the stock, and beginning to spar. They were both good, to Byleth’s eye, but nothing special. Not until Catherine suddenly feinted a parry, and dropped herself right to the ground. She spun in a quick circle, kicking the ankles out from under her opponent before easily finding her feet. 

The boy hit the ground with a muffled “Ow!” as Catherine leveled the tip of her practice sword to his neck. 

“Yield?”

“Yeah, yeah. I yield! You and your dirty tricks, Cat.”

“Complain all you want, but the bandits we’ll be fighting soon won’t hesitate to use those ‘dirty tricks,’” Catherine told him. She turned to their young observers and winked, “And neither should you.”

“Can you teach me?” Byleth blurted, without consideration for protocol or etiquette. She clapped a hand over her traitorous mouth, but Catherine only grinned.

“You like swords, huh?”

“I am more fond of magic, but I do enjoy them, yes.”

“Magic and swords go pretty well together, from what I’m told. That said, I’m not that great with the magic side of things,  _ but  _ if you wanna learn to fight rough and dirty, I am your girl.” 

Byleth looked to Ashe for his opinion, and her page nodded enthusiastically. He stood up, pressing his fist over his heart as he bowed to Catherine. “Just tell us where to start, ma’am!”

“Okay, well, to  _ start  _ my name is Catherine. You can just call me Cat.” 

From that day on, the pair of them were practically glued to Catherine’s—and thus, all the Blue Lion students’—side. They attended most of their lectures, trained with them, waved them off every time the group left on assignment, and welcomed them back with cheers and questions. After a few weeks, Rhea had even agreed to allow Byleth to sit with them for meals, rather than at the family table. 

Over that long winter, the students became less and less wary of Byleth. The moniker of “Ghost Girl” still came up from time to time, but it no longer sounded like a bad thing when it did. Byleth wasn’t entirely certain why. She was still quiet, unless it was only her, Ashe, and Catherine, and yet it seemed as though there had been a shift in how people perceived that quietness. 

Thanks to Catherine, Byleth wasn’t just improving as a swordswoman; no. For the first time in her young life, she was beginning to feel like she genuinely belonged. 

She’d tried—truly tried—not to feel as though all that progress were drizzling away like sand in an hourglass when it came time to prepare for her summer trip. Catherine had just graduated and begun her own preparations to return to her father’s Faerghus estate, when Rhea announced that Byleth needed to be fitted for her summer wardrobe. 

“Can’t I wear my own clothes?” she’d asked, to no avail. Her attendance at the Court was predicated on her noble title, and she needed to look the part. The only time she didn’t, her aunt condeeded, was on the training grounds. 

But  _ that  _ was part of Byleth’s point. So she’d been quiet, and dutifully allowed the seamstress to take her measurements. She’d modeled the dresses, and been poked and prodded until they were certain everything was in order, and then she’d taken each and every one of them out to the monastery training grounds. 

Several had needed to be altered. Loathe as she was to admit it, the Prince had had a point. Fighting in her usual dress and smock was fine—those were built for movement. Byleth hadn’t accounted for how restrictive the court styles for women could be. Though her skirts were more than wide enough to give her plenty of leg movement provided they were properly girded, the sleeves were tight and kept her from having a full range of movement with her arms. 

The seamstress had been beside herself at first, when Byleth brought all of the dresses back with popped seams and torn skirts. Then, after she’d explained, a compromise was made. 

The dress Byleth wore now, as she held Dimitri’s arm and marched resolutely toward his giggling friends, hung to just half-an-inch above the ground—the better to keep her from tripping. It also featured a clever little sash of perfectly matched material that she could girdle the skirt if needed. Though the sleeves looked to be part of the dress from the outside, they were actually more kin to gloves—slipped on, and loosely tied in place beneath the shawl-like wrapping around the dress’s high neckline, thus freeing her arms of restrictive seams. 

Since Byleth was too young for corsets, her dress wasn’t nearly as tight as the court ladies’ would be, and she had an extra ribbon for her hair that was currently tied around her wrist like a lady’s favour. 

Now all she needed was a sword and an excuse.

“Well, if it isn’t the Little Lady herself,” Sylvain said as they came into talking distance. He sidled up to Byleth and threw his arm around her shoulders again. “You’re looking lovely as ever this year.”

“Ew, Sylvian, she’s a  _ girl _ ,” Felix protested.

“Uh, yeah. So aware of that,” Sylvain replied. 

Byleth stared at Sylvain, torn between demanding he take his hand off her and the complete shock of his compliment. That  _ had _ been intended as a compliment, hadn’t it? 

The boy’s golden eyes widened dramatically at her stare. “What’s the matter? No one’s ever told you how pretty you are—ow! Ow!”

Ingrid had his ear before Byleth even registered the other girl’s presence. She drug Sylvain off Byleth, and gave the girl an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Lady Eisner, he’s only gotten worse since you were last here. Don’t mind him. He really doesn’t mean anything by it.”

Dimitri snickered faintly, and just like that Byleth realized what was going on. They were making fun of her. She wasn’t sure how, but they were. Her resolve, which had slipped for one, brief moment, hardened her spine. 

“It is fine. I remember precisely how he  _ is _ .”

Sylvain rubbed at the ear Ingrid had finally let go. His voice was complaintive as he asked, “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I believe it means she knows you, Sylvain,” said the new girl to their group—El. Byleth glanced at her, and then away again. There was something about that one. Something… familiar. Byleth didn’t understand the feeling she got when she looked at El directly, and didn’t want to fall prey to temptation twice. If she got lost trying to figure the girl out, she would lose focus of what was important. She had a  _ mission _ . 

“Where is Glenn,” she asked, instead, noting the eldest boys’ absence. 

“Sir Gustave took him along on a matter for father,” said Dimitri, who seemed honestly surprised by her question. “We don’t expect them back for a few weeks.”

Inwardly, Byleth damned her luck. She had hoped to show them all at once. Still, there was nothing for it. She was not going to wait weeks for this. 

“It will have to do,” she said, much to their consternation, and paused to look at each of them in turn—all except for El, who wasn’t part of this. “So, why are we still standing here?”

Dimitri blinked, frowning at her. “What?”

“You lot are always making a beeline for the training grounds. I thought you would try to ditch me before now. So, are we going, or we will stand around making small talk all afternoon while the adults pretend we are friends?”

Felix broke the silence between them with a grunt. He tilted his head to one side, and smiled wanly at Byleth. “Are you that desperate to  _ watch  _ us practice—”

“No. Are you going or not?”

“—Heh. Well, what do you say, Dima? I never say no to practice. I want to show Glenn how strong I am when he gets back.”

“Sure,” Dimitri said in a tone that implied it was merely instinct. He was staring at Byleth as though he’d never seen her before. He frowned slightly, and glanced off in the general direction of their practice field, before again looking to her. “Are… you coming with us?”

“I am.”

“Sounds like a party, then,” said Ingrid brightly, with a smile that was just a little too forced. 

Any good will Byleth might have been harboring for the other girl died in an instant. Ingrid wasn’t any more pleased with her addition to the group than the boys. Nothing had changed at all over this past year. 

Good. That would change now.

She nodded briefly, and gently tugged Dimitri’s arm until he started for the practice field. 

##  #

The Prince’s retinue practiced in a rounded, fenced-off area outside the garrison yard. The ground was mostly dirt with patches of scraggly, much-trampled grass clinging to life around the outer rim. Practice dummies stood at intervals around the perimeter, and on the farside of the fence someone had drawn up benches for courtiers to putter around as they watched the children work. The Prince was only eight, but many in his retinue were older, and they tended to draw attention even from those of their peers who had no general interest in armed combat. After all, many of them would be of an age for arrangements soon enough.

Dimitri expected Byleth to hang back as she always had; taking up a post on one of the benches and staring at them for the next few hours. 

Instead, as he shucked off the fancy tunic his mother demanded he wear over his usual trews and shirt, she untied the ribbon around her wrist and twisted her hair into a bun at the back of her neck. 

“Wait. Were you planning to join us on the field?” Ingrid asked, her brows drawn tight. “Don’t you want to change, first?”

“That will not be necessary.”

“I thought you didn’t do swords,” demanded Felix.

“I never said that.”

“Uh, yes, you did. Last year, remember?”

Byleth turned those impossible blue eyes on the boy as she said evenly, “I said they were not my strong suit. That is not the same as my not knowing how to use one at all.”

“She has you there, Felix,” said Ingrid.

This was too much for Dimitri. He shook his head. “If you knew how to use them, why didn’t you join us?” asked Dimitri. “You just sat there all summer. You didn’t have to.”

Something changed in her expression, then. The cold implacability of it shifted slightly, though he still wasn’t certain what he was looking at. It wasn’t the rage from when he’d called her on her two-faced act, nor the fake smile he’d caught her giving adults. 

“And you did not have to spend all summer on the field. There were other things we might have done,” Byleth said. “Besides, I was watching you.”

Sylvain ribbed Dimitri so suddenly that he startled. “Hear that, Dima? She was  _ watching _ you.”

Dimitri wrinkled his nose. “She doesn’t mean it like that!”

“I most certainly do not,” Byleth practically yelped, startling them all. When he looked back to her, her nose was wrinkled up in disgust, her mouth twisted in such a clear expression of distaste it was almost comforting. 

Or, it would have been, if it wasn’t directed at him. 

“Guys!” Ingrid groaned. She put her hands up placating, throwing a smile at Byleth. “Look, I get it, we were kind of rude last year. Can we all just agree to get along this time? You’re going to join us this time, right? So everything’s good?”

“No.” Byleth marched resolutely across the field to one of the stands where the wooden practice weapons were kept when it was nice and sunny out. She selected one, testing the balance in her hand and giving it a few, experimental twirls. 

Dimitri caught Ingrid’s eyes; she shrugged. 

Byleth put the sword back and selected a second one, doing the same thing. This time she nodded. 

She turned back to face Dimitri and pointed at him with the tip. “I challenge you, Prince Dimitri. Do you accept?”

Dimitri was so stunned, he said the first thing that came to mind, “But… you’re under hospitality.”

“So what? I thought you didn’t care about formalities.”

She’d used a contraction again. That irked him out of his stupor. Why did she always do that? She came off so strange and—and— _ unnaturally polite _ , then the second she got annoyed she dropped it like the act it had been all along. Why not just be herself to begin with? He didn’t understand this girl, and didn’t care to. Not one little bit.

“I don’t.”

“Then prove it. Accept my challenge.” Byleth tilted her head to one side. “Or are you scared to fight a girl in a dress?”

“Fine,” Dimitri agreed. He drew his usual practice blade from the stand as El stepped in between them. 

Ingrid scowled at the pair of them, crossing her arms. “Is this  _ really  _ what you both want to do?”

“Yes,” they snapped in unison. 

Someone scoffed from the sidelines. “And what’s all this, then?”

The children all froze where they were, save for El who had clearly seen the intruder approaching while her fellows were too busy squabbling. They turned to find Master Poreon, their arms instructor, leaning against the practice ground fence with the expression of a cat watching a pile of squabbling kittens. Cute, annoying, and oh so stupid. 

“We wanted to, uh, to practice,” Dimitri said, stumbling through the lie. Was it a lie? He wasn’t quite sure at the moment. 

“Were you now? Without supervision?”

“Is that necessary?” asked Byleth, sounding remarkably surprised. 

Ignoring her question for now, the great hulk of an aging warrior turned toward the girl and raised a thick, white caterpillar eyebrow at her. “Lady Eisner. Must say I’m surprised to see you with this lot. Not in the ring, at least. I was told you weren’t trained.”

Byleth’s cheeks turned an interesting shade of scarlet. “That was an assumption my… that was incorrect, Master Poreon. I believe you will find that I am quite well trained indeed.”

“Are you?” The man chuckled, crossing his arms. “Well, I wouldn’t expect any less from the Archbishop, truth told. I was more surprised to think she wasn’t training you at all.”

“I apologize for the misunderstanding. May we begin, now?”

Master Poreon laughed quietly, crossing his great arms over his broad chest. “All fire and lightning this year, aren’t you, lass? I’m afraid I’ll be needing to lay some ground rules first, however.”

The girl’s face darkened. “Rules?”

“Believe it or not, we do have some,” drawled the Master. He gestured to Dimitri. “Go on lad. Since you seem to be having some memory trouble, let’s see what you know.”

Dimitri sighed. He hated being called upon like this, but the burning of his ears belied that he knew exactly what Master Poreon meant. He’d been so caught up in the whirlwind of this new, extra-annoying Byleth that he hadn’t remembered how much things had changed over the past year. 

How much they’d changed  _ because of her _ .

His baleful glower is understood and reflected back to him on Byleth’s pale face. “We only train under supervision, now, when Master Poreon says it’s okay. No live weapons. No magic in the field. Fights go until a yield is called, until the supervisor calls the match in someone’s favour, one party breaches the practice ring, or first blood is drawn. Master Poreon has to approve all training partners, and challenges are only accepted between Companions.” 

There was a long, quiet pause as this litany of regulations sunk into Byleth. Then her scowl deepend. “So you won’t fight me.”

“I _ can’t _ .”

“He’s right, Lady Eisner. I’m afraid our protocol changed somewhat over the past year. The King’s orders.”

Byleth’s shoulders slumped, but her grip on the hilt of her practice sword was bone white. Dimitri wasn’t sure what her problem was exactly, but he was starting to be grateful this wasn’t going to be allowed. Much as he wanted to kick her butt through the ring, there was something  _ off _ about the situation. Something he didn’t quite like about the way she was still watching him. 

He took a step back and turned to put his sword away.

“That said,” Master Poreon interjected, “I’m tempted to allow an exception.”

“What?” Ingrid asked, “You can’t change the rules!”

“I’m afraid you’ll find that I can,” the old warrior corrected. “King Lambert put me in charge of this ring, and trusts my judgement. If I deem it safe, I’ll let you fight him.”

“How will you know it is safe?”

“I won’t until I see you in action. So then… Sylvain, let’s start with you.”

Byleth’s frown slowly settled into a thin line and a twinkle in her eye that might have been delight. She nodded imperiously to Master Poreon. “I accept your terms.”

“Well I don’t!” Sylvain made a face. “I’m not any good with a sword.”

“Then the practice will do you some good,” the Master barked. “Pick up a sword and let's get to it. What’s the matter, boy? I know your mother taught you not to keep Ladies waiting.”

##  #

First it was Sylvain. Then Ingrid. Byleth hadn’t necessarily wanted to fight El, but she’d had to in order to get to Felix. Master Poreon was working her through the group by level of expertise; that was abundantly clear. 

Beating Sylvain had taken little more than a few parries and a sharp step backward when he thought to try and overpower her through superior strength alone. Byleth twirled around him and landed a sweeping blow across his black that left him stumbling. It also earned her a nod of approval from the weapons master. 

Ingrid was slightly more difficult. She was matched with Byleth in agility, and the girls danced around each other with only the rarest of strikes between them until Byleth managed to trip Ingrid up with a feint attack at her stomach. She ducked beneath Ingrid’s answering blow, and brought her sword up in the opposite direction. A direct, would-be gutting blow to Ingrid’s stomach called the match. The other girl winced away with something kin to respect in her eyes.

It was against El that Byleth nearly lost her nerve. 

She still couldn’t look this girl in the eyes. Their first chance meeting had elicited a feeling not unlike drowning in the ocean. Byleth didn’t know what to do with this, and wasn’t ready to risk it again. Fighting without looking one’s opponent in the eyes was something of a handicap, however. She couldn’t read El’s tells as well as she might have otherwise, and the girl nearly got in several good hits before Byleth switched her tactics up and met a would-be killing blow with a full-bodied, two-handed block. A surge of power tingled through her veins as she did, glowing briefly in her eyes as she shoved El backward.

El stumbled in surprise, tripping over her own feet, and Byleth used that moment to follow the girl to the ground and pin her. 

“Match to Lady Eisner,” said Master Poreon. 

Byleth got to her feet, and stepped away from El so that the other girl could climb nervously to her feet. She didn’t offer a hand up, and refused to look up all the way until Felix took El’s place.

By comparison, getting through Felix was far easier though it wasn’t for his lack of skill. He was better with all of the others with a sword and came even closer to ending Byleth’s streak than El had. If it weren’t for Catherine teaching her some rather undignified tricks—such as dropping to the ground and rolling back to her feet to avoid a blow—she wouldn’t have made it. It was that exact trick which saved her. 

Byleth popped back up, swinging a fist-ful of dirt at the boy, who immediately dropped his sword to paw at his face.

“Ow! Hey! No fair!”

Dimitri, Sylvain and Ingrid immediately began to back Felix up, while Byleth frowned. 

“There’s no such thing as ‘fair’ in war,” she said plainly as Master Poreon waded into the fray.

“Hold up, hold up, now,” he grumbled as he pulled Felix’s hands away from his eyes and tilted the boy’s chin up. “Let me see here… hah. You’re alright, lad, doesn’t look like she got you too direct. Go over to the trough and wash that out, now.”

Felix sneered at Byleth before shoulder-checking on her on his way past. Master Poreon shook his head, huffing in amusement as he surveyed the rest of their lot. “Afraid I have to call for Lady Eisner, again. She’s showing you lot up rather well.”

“You can’t allow that!” Dimitri gestured emphatically toward Byleth. “She cheated!”

“I did not! That was a—”

“I’m afraid the girl’s point is valid,” said Master Poreon, putting a hand to Byleth’s shoulders. “Though perhaps a little overly, ah,  _ enthusiastic  _ for a training session. After all, young Miss, we are not at war here, are we?”

They most certainly were, Byleth thought. Judging from the black looks Dimitri and his friends were giving her, they most certainly were thinking the same thing. “No, Master Poreon.”

“No, indeed,” He agreed, clapping her shoulder once again. “That said, I think we’re done for the day.”

“But—!”

“No arguments. You’ll come along with them in the morning, and you’ll bring that page of yours with you if he hasn’t anything else to do. Wear proper training clothes. Depending on how you do, I may yet let you face the Prince down. But as good as you are, you aren’t quite ready for that, I fear.”

Byleth gaped at him, unsure what to say or do. She was certain she  _ could _ take on Dimitri. But in order to do so, she would have to argue with an adult. Byleth hated arguing with adults; especially those who weren’t in her family. 

But the longer she stood at his side, unmoving, the more her state began to drag at her. She was filthy. Her hair was half down, and her dress was practically beyond repair. Though her breathing had begun to steady, the drying sweat on her skin had begun to make her shake. 

Knowing herself spent, Byleth bowed her head and accepted the inevitable. “Yes, Master Poreon.”

She would just have to wait a little longer for her chance. That was all there was to it.


End file.
